


The Lost Lamb

by Dornroschen



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Dark Abigail Hobbs, Dark Will Graham, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is a Cannibal, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dornroschen/pseuds/Dornroschen
Summary: What if Will had made a different choice in the rain that night?Hannibal, Will, and Abigail escape to Florence together, but they still must face the consequences of Will's betrayal. And in their flight, they've left far too many enemies behind.
Relationships: Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

The phone cut through the patter of the rain behind him, the darkness settled around the house.

Hannibal wiped his hands precisely as he let himself move quicker than normal.

The man was panting, out of breath. The distant ring of a police car painted the scene. For a brief moment, Hannibal felt a twinge of curiosity. Will always had a way of surprising him.

“I…”

Hannibal glanced down at his knife, twisting it to the side, the blade gleaning like a pool in the moonlight.

“I told Jack.”

He paused, letting the silence fall like a guillotine between them.

“I know,” he replied crisply, as if simply stating the temperature outside. _2.7 degrees Celsius, and he doubted the boy had a coat on._

Before Will could respond — if he planned to respond — Hannibal disconnected the phone.

* * *

Hannibal considered the phone in his hand carefully, the slightest frown tugging at his lips. “They’re coming,” the killer told the Abigail. 

“Are… we going?” She was dressed to go out; not for the main course, but for dessert. No scarf strangled her slowly.

“We are waiting for Will.” Hannibal went back to arranging the food. “It’s important that he sees you.” His eyes flitted back up to meet hers. “I want you two to be together.”

“They’ll catch us if we stay.” Her nerves unraveled so quickly, still so terrified of being caught. Of facing Jack.

“I’m on my honor to look after you, Abigail. You have to look after me too. We have to protect each other in these new lives we create.”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face, the look of a wounded animal still cut to the bone.

“I want you to go upstairs and wait.”

“For what?”

“Hunting with your father was the best time you’ve ever had. Now you’re going to hunt with me.”

The rain beat faster, time speeding up once again.

But to shatter the teacup, or to remake it?

* * *

“Hello, Jack. You’re early.”

The pleasantries burned themselves into his voice, his tongue slick with practiced honey. Jack didn’t even try to be subtle, but he was still leashed by the imagined morality of his people, still bound by the sharp shards of sentimentality, no matter how much he tried to escape them.

It was, in a way, a welcome dance. Hannibal had known the truth ever since he’d smelled seeped into Will’s skin. He’d known it before then. But hope? Hope had a way of twisting the heart, crushing it beneath the sun; Atlas holding the earth.

The rain outside played its sweet song softly. As if all of this blood, all of this betrayal, everything — Jack and Will and Hannibal — could just be swept away into the night.

He roared for the fight. He wanted to rip Jack apart, anything to stop himself from tearing out his own beating, living heart and crushing it.

Jack was quick. Hannibal was quicker, easing into the familiar dance of hunter and prey. Boiling blood became ice on his skin. Pain hit and dulled. His hand grasped the metal easily, but it was just one hit; Jack was smoother now, his fury overwhelming him. It was his hands that now found Hannibal’s neck, but it was a temporary reprieve for a man who’d gotten too used to sitting behind a desk.

A bull in the china shop.

The blows came quickly now, Jack smashed to the ground and on it for longer. Hannibal took his time selecting the knife to finish off the lamb. Jack simply couldn’t understand; cocking his fists — but it was Hannibal who was slammed down this time, fist after fist raining into his head.

Jack wasn’t quick enough.

The blood came quickly under the heavy cut. Clumsy, uncivilized, and rude though it may have been, the glass was the exact hammer Hannibal needed to end the charade.

He turned, smiling, as the pantry door slammed close, the blood lust rising in him. Hannibal braced himself and leapt.

The air was thick with fear — _his_ fear, the mortal who’d dared look at the sun and think to himself worthy enough to touch it — and Hannibal let himself be drunk on it, let the scent settle on his tongue before he slammed into the door once more. And again. _Again_.

It was delicious; a sweet, cloying scent all his victims came to know intimately before they died — and that jolted him back to reality. Jack was a dead man walking without medical attention. Hannibal’s pupils dilated as he considered what he’d find behind the door. Jack’s resolve was weakening now, the door shaking harder and harder each time he pushed.

_Jack… that covetous pig, sniffing and snorting and grunting his way as he feasted on Will, **his** Will, his clever boy, unable to see the blood pouring out of him._

Hannibal opened his eyes. Jack would die by his hands, and he would rip out every inch of him, make him taste his own blood, his own tongue, his own _eyes_. Every piece that had fed on what was his — had taken what was _his_ … Ah, yes. The cold arrow that pierced straight through his heart. Will wasn’t _his_.

He only registered that the door had slid open when the smell hit him.

“Dr. Lec… Lector.” For once, the words died on her fiery tongue as Hannibal turned, bloody in all of his glory, a knife in each hand.

“Miss Lounds.” The doctor took in the sight of her, alive, unbroken, well, and the knife of cold betrayal ripped through him even now. “I don’t _believe_ we invited you to dinner,” he mockingly whispered, delighting in the way her eyes widened and her hands began to shake. The gun was perched so precariously between her fingers… it would only take a push for her to fall crashing down to the earth.

“We?” she stammered out, pointing the gun higher, bracing herself even as she slowly moved back. The camera strap slid further down her shoulder.

“Did we, Will?” His eyes turned to the door.

* * *

“Grah — Will,” the redhead whispered to the dark, turning by instinct to the man behind her even as the monster stood still in front. Hannibal’s lips curled, a savage cry lying on his tongue. “I — I heard the police transmitter, I thought — I thought — I thought by now it would just be another crime scene…”

_You wanted to catch the Chesapeake Ripper, you silly little child._ For once, Freddie Lounds had found a crime scene too early.

Her words were drowned out by the blood pumping through him as he held the younger man in his gaze. _Will._ A study in betrayal; his mentor, already brought here to kill, and his sacrifice, risen from the dead. No matter how many times he wielded it, his gun shuddered in his hands. Hannibal could only answer with a mocking smile. Will was never meant to hide behind a gun.

“You haven’t left.”

The wonderment crashed into Hannibal like an ice wall. His eyes flew open as he drunk in the profiler, even as he saw the insipid reporter move closer to her savior, even as Will held onto his gun like a drowning man for the glory of his god. His eyes were for Will and for Will only, and in an instant, he saw; how the wet cold had seeped through his bones, how his hair near frozen into place, how the blood was seeping through the shallow cuts on his cheeks, how his hands clasped dirt… and his eyes, wide and unsteady, taking Hannibal in as if he’d never seen the sun before.

“Will — Will, do something,” that voice pleaded. He didn’t see her; she had no place here. Blood ran black in the moonlight, and here they were, two creatures of the dark.

But then the boy drew back with a shallow breath, retreating once more into the shadows of his mind. He could only stare in awe as he saw Will take it all in; the blood, the knives… and Freddie Lounds, with her gun still pointed straight at him even as she turned to her savior.

His hand lowered to the side, the gun safe once more.

“Will?” Her voice was quiet now. She could only stare at him, a doe caught in his stare.

Behind them, the clock began to strike.

Will turned straight to her, considering her with all of his wide-eyed gaze. "Give me your gun, Freddie," his breath a murmur caught on the air.

And just like that, she did. A badge had a strange way of commanding.

The clock beat once more.

The gun dropped to the floor, discarded and unwanted.

"What are you doing?" But her voice was strained now, waiting for him to decide.

Will turned back up with gasping eyes as if caught by surprise.

“Hannibal,” he whispered. His voice set the stars ablaze as he sliced her throat.

* * *

An eternity passed before the earth stood still once more.

If he saw him every day, Hannibal would forever remember this moment. Wading through a river of blood to reach Will — his Will? — as the knife clattered to the floor, his hands unsteady as he pushed himself back into the wall. Will, _glorious_ Will, his heartbeat racing, his body shaking as the throes of death began to rip through him.

His becoming.

Will fell to his knees before Hannibal could reach him, looking up at the man with those burning eyes. “It’s…”

“Do you see, Will?” he said gently, time holding its breath for them. He reached out to take Will’s face in his own hands. The heart beat just as slowly now beneath it. The cold settled in on him now, the blood loss darkening his gaze. But his face… oh, his eyes, so wide and lost, the skin frozen to the touch as Will plead for him. Bled for him. Worshipped him.

“This was all I ever wanted for you. For us.” _Once upon a time, beauty met a beast._

“It’s beautiful.” His words danced through the air, sweeping away the ghosts that hung between them. For one blissful, glorious moment, they were just there.

“Hannibal,” Will whispered once more, pulling himself up to stand next to the killer before him. “ _Hannibal_ ,” he said more urgently, and Hannibal had to bring himself down from the heavens.

_Will_.

How had they come to this moment?

“Hannibal,” the boy pleaded, holding up his other hand, cupping it softly.

Oh. _Oh_.

“I told you, I didn’t need a sacrifice,” Hannibal murmured, taking his hand and pressing it to his lips as futures began to settle in his mind’s eye. Will’s eyes never left him as the blood of the lost lamb swirled down his throat.

“I needed to give one to you.” But it was Will’s turn to be dragged down as Hannibal leaned back. Slowly, Will took his right hand up, and let the last drops of Freddie Lounds linger on his tongue.

“She was going to kill you.” Panic seemed to grow in his voice, the wet seeping down his face. Odd, as Hannibal considered him, that he was so untouched by the blood around him. Dear Will. It was him, truly, who had waded deep into the rivers of blood that they now found themselves in. And yet still untouched…

Hannibal couldn’t resist pushing him further. He let his touch linger on the profiler’s shoulder. “Jack is in the pantry, Will.”

“You’re hurt.” His eyes stared straight into Hannibal, pleading — but not with him? “Hannibal, I — I betrayed you, I lied, I led him straight to you…”

“Shh.” Hannibal let his hand trace Will’s cheek, holding him in place. “Shh, Will. Do you trust me?” He considered the penitent now. Only a night before he’d asked him to run away. He’d even promised forgiveness.

Will closed his eyes for a moment, as if wishing it all away. “Yes,” came the unbroken cry. “Yes,” he repeated, as he took Hannibal back in. “Always.”

A thousand futures flittered across his hands, and at last, his hands settled on one.

Hannibal brought the other man into his arms, the pocket knife cutting through that frozen flesh like butter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapters will be posted every few days, and kudos and comments (especially constructive feedback) are very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Some dialogue in this first chapter comes from the episode.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will.”
> 
> That’s all it takes for the night to come rushing back through, fear sweeping through his body as he tightens back up. No, he cries to himself, forcing his eyes open. Hannibal is alive. He’s not dead.
> 
> \- 
> 
> Or, the one in which it's probably time for couples therapy.
> 
> Warnings for some sexual content.

_Hannibal…_

_The ocean roars its fury around him as he begins to drown. He can’t get up, can’t feel his body, can’t even fight against the raging of the sea. It’s his time, and who is he to protest? He has betrayed, he has lied, he has killed. But as he stares into the eye of the storm, time stands still, the gods waiting for the scales to settle._

_But there’s only one god for him. Will can’t see, but he can feel — and oh, Hannibal’s soft caress…_

_He lets the lightning run through him, bring him back to life. Frankenstein’s monster, Will thinks with a smile on his lips, but as his hands tilt his eyes up towards the heavens, all thought disappears._

_Hannibal is safe._

_If he had to live forever, this is what he would remember. The glory and the fury, the tempest and the storm — Hannibal, alive and bloody, victorious._

_He can almost taste him on the tip of his tongue, and a jolt runs through him sharply as he realizes Hannibal’s touch._

_Will has to close his eyes._

_But in this time, Hannibal takes him up, brings him together once more. He’s not a fragile little teacup. The antlers burn through his skull, his skin turning black in the moonlight as Hannibal brings him out of the baptismal font of blood._

_Hannibal. Their antlers touch, and Will can feel every second of it._

_He wants to lean in, to take it all, to feast on the rage and the bloodlust and the glory that lies before him. Hannibal. His Hannibal. Time lies frozen. Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal, he wants to scream._

_And time beats once more. Hannibal tears his victory from his lips, his hands grasping Will tenderly, roughly, taking what is his. And Will responds with a savage cry, no longer holding back. He_ is _Hannibal’s._

_They sink into the blood, and he can feel Hannibal’s body flush against his own. The power behind those arms, but for once, they’re protecting him, drawing him in tighter as Hannibal dives in to kiss him, his lips leaving a burning mark on his skin._

_Patroclus and Achilles. It took divine intervention to bring them down._

Will wakes with a gasp.

He can’t calm his heart beat. He can’t, he can’t — his eyes won’t work, he can’t _see_ what’s around him. A bed, something in him registers. White sheets. Wood.

And —

He lifts his fingers up, panting for air.

Blood.

No. He closes his eyes and counts to ten.

No, there’s nothing there, he realizes when the light hits him.

But, he realizes with a flush, there was somewhere else the blood went.

“Did I just have a _sex dream_ about _Hannibal_?”

_Fuck._ Will groans, loudly, before he realizes he probably shouldn’t. _At least I didn’t moan._

Small comforts. Though they’re not particularly comforting.

He’d never been with a man, and he’d certainly _never_ thought about Hannibal that way. Or — no, that had been Alana, mostly. Sometimes he’d wondered how far Hannibal would go to care for him, maybe, but that didn’t equate to… anything, right?

_The wendingo_. No, it hadn’t just been Alana in bed — nor did the false memory of kissing her bring him any pleasure. Bile’s pooling in the back of his throat as he remembers the fever dream, Hannibal kissing _her_ , caressing _her_ , taking _her_ apart.

Of course. As fun as it might have been to play with Will, instability was far from attractive. No one had taught him that better than Alana, and Hannibal hadn’t waited to take her to bed as soon as he’d heard that.

He swallows as he opens his eyes once more. Hannibal _had_ touched him, he can remember that. Ghostly fingers burn into his face, marking him. Will has to swallow again — _he’d like that,_ the traitorous part of his mind whispers, and Will wants to just let his shame eat him up.

“I’m Will Graham,” he reminds himself slowly, taking a deep breath. “And…”

It’s not Hannibal’s house, he’s fairly sure of that. But nor does the décor scream hospital, or prison, or any number of other places he’d expect to find himself that morning. The sun, at least, marks sometime of daylight. But west or east, he couldn’t say, nor even how long he might have slept.

Slowly, he reaches back into his mind, pulling out the vague whispers that had run into the corners of darkness.

Will takes a breath to steady himself. The call. He remembers the call, he remembers picking up the phone. He had needed to tell Hannibal. His hands had been frozen, his lips chattering, but he remembers the realization so vividly it nearly makes him throw up from the terror. He had to get to Hannibal, he’d made a terrible mistake… and then Hannibal picked up, and suddenly his voice only could say three words.

_I told Jack?_ Will rolled his eyes.

_I know_. And he couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face. _Of course Hannibal knew._

But what next?

He saw himself step through the doorway, saw his hands nearly drop as the cold rushed through him. What had been the point of a gun, anyways? And he sees his horror face him, the terror that made him rush blindly into the night. He could smell the blood. Hannibal would have been proud. But he still wasn’t sure what had happened, and it was the fear that ripped through him. Fear that he’d see again in nightmares.

_Not that he needed help._

But Hannibal hadn’t been dead, Will reminded himself, coaxing his mind out of the shadows. Freddie — and oh god, _Freddie_ , his betrayal not just flaunting herself, but wanting to take and kill…

The knife had sung in his hand. He’d forgotten he’d even had it.

He has to shake his head to remember Hannibal hadn’t kissed him. Will sank with shame deeper into himself. When he’d picked up the phone, there had been a beacon in the darkness. He couldn’t play the game anymore. He couldn’t even remember the rules. All he knew was suddenly, there really was only one way forward. He had no desire to go to the police. Or Jack. Or Alana. There was something deep inside him that hummed with the thrill of _pleasure_ as he remembered slicing through Freddie’s throat.

He only had to do what needed to be done.

Swallowing, Will ignored the stiffness in his limbs and climbed out of the bed. He was shirtless, he realized, and the silk boxers didn’t quite help the situation at hand.

_Silk…_ silk _boxers?_

He definitely was at Hannibal’s.

As he stood, a slow melody began to run through the air, luring him to the door. But his hand paused on the door handle, the cold air breaking the trance as he realized his state of undress.

Will’s hand falls to his side as his turns back to the room, so unsure of his place here. There’s not any clothes, or at least any he can see. Only a bed and a window, with a clear view over the cliff. They must be on the second or third floor, he realizes suddenly, eying the ground.

He didn’t even realize the music had stopped until he hears the door pull open behind him.

_Oh. Shit. Silk boxers._

_Great._

“Will.”

That’s all it takes for the night to come rushing back through, fear sweeping through his body as he tightens back up. _No_ , he cries to himself, forcing his eyes open. Hannibal is alive. He’s not dead.

He’s not hearing voices.

But Will can’t bring himself to believe until he feels the long fingers of the artist land on the back of his neck.

“Will,” Hannibal says again, making him turn. Will’s flushed as he meets the doctor’s eyes, ecstasy and sheer, humiliating embarrassment running through him.

“… Hannibal.” The words sound twisted on his tongue. His betrayal is heavy, and he doesn’t even care what the doctor will do to him now. It’s what he wants to do to himself.

_He betrayed you before that,_ that voice reminds him snidely.

Will swallows.

The doctor’s eyes flicker down for a moment, and _oh_ , Will realizes, Hannibal is just going to make him die of shame.

“I need to check your wound,” Hannibal informs him with a sigh, propelling him backward onto the bed before he can even protest.

_Wound?_

“You stabbed me,” he says finally, meeting Hannibal’s gaze for a moment. But it’s more of a curiosity than a statement.

“I did,” Hannibal confirms, deftly replacing the bandages. Will doesn’t even care to look. His eyes are only on the man. “It shouldn’t scar. It was quite light, but I needed a fair amount of blood. Though you shouldn’t have woken up yet. I wanted you to sleep — sleeping pills,” he assures Will, misreading the look on his face. “Nothing more.” As if he hadn’t, oh, stabbed him. Will can’t really find it in himself to give a damn. He couldn’t even feel it.

“Ah. Well, I got used to them in the looney bin. They weren’t a fan of the nightmares,” he says with a sardonic grin, but that only makes Hannibal purse his lips.

“Your clothes aren’t ready yet,” the man finally informs him, stepping back. Will feels like a naughty schoolboy caught sneaking out of bed. It doesn’t help that he can’t read Hannibal right whatsoever. They’d apparently run away, but he’d never quite pictured what the after part would bring. “I apologize for not being prepared. But if you like, I brought some of my own.” He gestures, and Will realizes he’s placed a tidy stack at the end of the bed. “There’s breakfast —”

“Hannibal,” Will says, his voice wavering. “I’m sorry. I should have come before.” He groans internally at how weak his voice sounds, how shallow the apology must feel like. But he pleads with Hannibal with his eyes, begging him to understand. All of the confidence he’d had as he plotted — with Hannibal, with Jack, with Jack and Hannibal — stripped bare. There were no more bodies to hide behind, no more of himself to give up on a platter.

“You decided when you heard my voice, I presume.” Hannibal eyes him with all of a cat’s bemusement.

Will can only stare at him, unsure of what to say. “I…”

“Come, Will,” Hannibal says decisively, stepping to the side. “I want to show you something.” The melody races through Will again, but it’s broken this time by the weakness of memory. He hands Will the clothes one by one, standing by his side quietly as he dresses. Will doesn’t have any of his grace, but he doesn’t care; he just needs to hide that erection soon and quickly.

“Where are we?” asks Will, as they turn the corner. The melody is drowning out his thoughts, and he’s grateful for the respite.

“North,” Hannibal says shortly. He hesitates as they descend the stairs. “Will. Can you trust me?”

Will walks gingerly next to him, his body still coiled up. “The last time you asked me that, you stabbed me,” he reminds Hannibal. “And I’d just saved your life too.”

“So I did.” The doctor chuckles, the air lightening. “Though as you might recall, she was not supposed to be alive. So, I suppose in a way, this actually might be a fairer exchange then I’d thought.”

Will’s about to ask him what he means when they reach the bottom, and suddenly, he realizes the melody isn’t in his head.

He takes a deep breath. Her hair is just as he remembered.

And then Abigail turns around.

* * *

Hannibal places the plate in front of him, snapping him out of it.

He bites his lip nervously, grateful for the distraction.

“Protein scramble?”

“A lean pig.”

He can’t help the laugh that rises out of him, and it gives him the strength to look back up.

“Ab…igail,” he says softly, trying out her name as a smile grows on her face.

“Dad,” she teases right back.

And suddenly, a warmth spreads through his bones, breaking through the ice he hadn’t known was there. An ice that had settled into him for so long he could no longer tell himself from what others wanted of him.

“Abigail.”

“Yes, that’s my name.”

He glances over at the man standing at the edge of the library watching them. His eyes meet Will’s, and for the first time since he’d woken up, he sees them. Brightness. Hope. Happiness.

“… How?” he asks them both in amazement, but even as the words cross his lips, he sees what had happened. Hannibal’s design — an ear, but nothing more; blood taken slowly over time (too bad for the Red Cross); and a convenient madness taking root in Will’s brain.

Hannibal sees him too, and he strides across the room to steady him.

Will’s grateful for the hand on his shoulder that grounds him as he opens his eyes.

“You’re alive,” he says, but it’s more for him than her and she knows that. “What have you been doing all this time?”

Abigail grins at that, and lets the words fall out. Will can only watch her, breathless as he sees a happy, radiant girl, so different from the one curled up — locked up — in the hospital. Hannibal squeezes his shoulder, and he knows the man is smiling too.

“And we —” Will realizes that he’s missed most of what she’s said, but it doesn’t matter, because he has this moment to add to his small treasures. She glances at Hannibal and seems to find some sort of reassurance there because she turns back to Will without hesitation. “We can be a family now. You came.”

“A family,” Will repeats, that slow swirl of shame deep in his belly roaring its head. He almost hadn’t come. He knows that and Hannibal knows that, but Abigail doesn’t — or at least she doesn’t seem to — and he’s so grateful for that small mercy. “I can’t believe it,” he says, wonderment sweeping through him.

“We are a family now,” Hannibal informs him, kneeling down until they’re face to face. “I should apologize for not telling you before, Will, but I couldn’t risk our plans.”

Will shakes his head. Hannibal’s not quite speaking the truth, because it wasn’t their plans, it was _him_ who had compromised _them_ , and even though he would have chosen Hannibal without a doubt if he had known he can’t bring himself — he doesn’t care, truly, because right now he can see Hannibal so clearly, in a way he hasn’t since Randall Tier and the dance with Jack began. “No.” He clears his throat. “No,” Will repeats, letting his smile grow. “This is perfect. This is all I could have ever wanted.”

Will squeezes the hand that still rest on his shoulder, trying to say it all. “This is the way —” But it’s not, and he stops himself from fucking up further, because he hears the truth as soon as he says it. It didn’t have to be this way. But however long it had taken him to find his way, they were all here now. Hannibal’s eyes watch him, familiarity slipping away slowly as his puts his guard back up. “You were right not to tell me.”

* * *

“I suppose I should ask at some point — where are we going, exactly?” He’s sprawled out in the back seat. To prevent clotting or something, Hannibal had said, and Will had bitten his tongue before he could sprout out something dumb about the shallow wound.

Will spies the grin Hannibal and Abigail share, and chooses happiness instead of jealousy. Not jealousy, precisely, but he tempers down the pang that echoes in his chest. He’s here now, with them, far away from the raging tempest. That’s what matters. The air feels fresher than it has in a long time.

“Dumb question,” Will jokes.

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question — well, maybe there is, if dad has anything to say about it,” Abigail teases, her eyes glancing between the two of them as she repositions herself towards Will.

“Both of your dads,” Hannibal says smoothly, and the words basically sing through the air. He meets Will’s wide-eyed stare in the rearview mirror. This Hannibal slips through the wind, and Will can’t quite keep up. “Your dad was a teacher, after all.” There’s a lightness in his eyes, and Will can’t help but match it.

“Please never remind me,” Will says, playing along with a fake groan. “Though none of my students were ever as bad as some of your patients — remember Franklyn?”

“You’re not asking _me_ to _break_ doctor-patient confidentiality, are you?” Hannibal says with a straight face.

“Ethics, or you can’t bear the thought of speaking about that twitching little rat?”

Hannibal has to laugh at that. “He should only be grateful his death was quick,” he says, visibly savoring the memory. “He lured in Tobias, and I’d have made him suffer just as much for you if I’d had the time.”

Will quiets the rumble within him, but he’s recognizing it more and more. The wendingo he’d birthed, it seems, was pleased by Hannibal’s protectiveness.

_He’s_ pleased, because he is the wendingo, and he feels the antlers begin to curl out of his hair. Hannibal’s not there to ground him back to reality, but he swallows, forcing the feeling to retreat, dragging himself out of Hannibal’s stare to check on Abigail.

But she’s smiling just as much as Hannibal, the cold glint echoing in her eyes.

“… next time?” Abigail asks quietly.

“Next time,” Hannibal confirms.

Will’s smile grows back, before he realizes what they’d just said. “Hey, I can hold my own,” the former FBI agent turned killer turned — murder dad? — protested.

Abigail giggles, but whatever she’s about to tease him with next disappears as they turn onto a road and pull up to a silver gate. Will casts a questioning glance her way, but her face is set in an impenetrable, thoroughly amused smile.

Hannibal is saying something, and then the gate opens, and then —

“You got us a _private plane_?” Will is gobsmacked as they drive onto the runway, and Hannibal has to wait a second for Will to take his hand and step out of the car.

“Don’t worry,” Hannibal says in a low voice, out of Abigail’s earshot. “The FBI hasn’t put out a warrant for us yet, I made sure of that. And the charter company is _very_ discrete.”

But Abigail’s quick behind them as they walk up the stairs. “Dad wouldn’t take anything less,” she says smugly, her eyes completely and thoroughly laughing at Will’s befuddlement.

“I wouldn’t have — I really would have been fine on a plane,” Will says, not really processing it. It’s not a small one either; the seats can clearly turn into beds, and there’s several tvs and fold out tables scattered throughout.

“Nonsense,” Hannibal replies, his voice crisp in front of them as he maneuvers Will into a seat. “Nothing less for my family. Here, Will.”

There’s a champagne glass in his hand suddenly as they start the take off.

_Family_. He smiles, but then a jolt runs through him. Family. Abigail’s dads… so that would make him Hannibal’s partner? Husband? Boyfriend?

_Lover?_

“Cheers,” Hannibal says, dragging him out of his mind. He’s seated himself across from Will, while Abigail has claimed a few seats closer to the front.

“Cheers!” Abigail responds, her eyes dancing.

Will gulps, but he can’t help but bask in their happiness. He hadn’t benefited from his empathy in so long.

“Cheers,” he says, grinning, as he holds up his glass. “To our family.”

He’d figure out the details at some point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the kudos and comments!! It's my first time writing for this ship, and it means the world.
> 
> As always, constructive feedback is totally welcome. The next chapter will be up in a few days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d let Will know him intimately even as he’d known the profiler might betray him. Welcomed it. It was the chance he took, the thrill that ran through him every time he opened his door. Waiting to see what would emerge from the cocoon. The pleasure he’d taken as he pressed forward into Will’s cold façade, delighted by the challenge.
> 
> Hannibal hadn’t expected how much it would hurt to find out his betrayal so intimately.

Will falls asleep easily. It’s night, but the dim lights still left on in the plane illuminate the clouds around them. Hannibal considers the younger man for a moment. Exhaustion dances across his body; Hannibal will put him in a proper bed soon enough. He’s curled up, his hair splayed across the soft tan leather of the seat.

Behind him, he knows, Abigail has already drifted off. He’s alone in the cabin.

Hannibal lets the wine linger on his tongue as he looks out across the skies. He hadn’t been in the mood for a meal. Normally, he’d have brought his own, but events had gotten away from him. The wine burns at the memory.

He’d let Will know him intimately even as he’d known the profiler might betray him. Welcomed it. It was the chance he took, the thrill that ran through him every time he opened his door. Waiting to see what would emerge from the cocoon. The pleasure he’d taken as he pressed forward into Will’s cold façade, delighted by the challenge.

Hannibal hadn’t expected how much it would hurt to find out his betrayal so intimately.

Will had gutted him, and he had been brutal with the knife. Worse, he hadn’t even told Hannibal — so sure was he in his decision. Even as Hannibal offered forgiveness. Even as Hannibal gave him a desperate sacrifice to save his own beating heart.

Will had rejected it all. If they had run away that night, Hannibal wonders, would he had ever said a word?

Across him, the profiler murmured in his sleep, face beginning to twist. Hannibal stood unconsciously. It only took a few quick strides to reach the boy. He watched Will’s face smoothen under his hand blindly. Yet now it brought no joy to him, only an uncomfortable burn at his loss.

Letting his hand fall back to his side, Hannibal takes his seat once more and reaches for the computer in his bag. The blue screen flashes before him before he logs onto the email. The plane’s WiFi is shaky, but it’s enough to get in to his former bedmate’s intimate conversations.

* * *

He can hear Will’s breath behind him as they stand in the piazza, a few steps away from where the car is pulling smoothly away from the curb.

“Hannibal, I…”

The doctor looks back over his shoulder, allowing himself the chance to see what might have been. “Come, Will.” He holds out his hand, letting their fingers entangle in some small breadth of comfort as he pulls Will over the steps. Abigail’s still a few feet behind, drinking in the Italian sunlight in this new life.

Will’s gasp alights a small thrill in Hannibal, and he can’t bear to hide his smile.

“It’s beautiful, Hannibal.” Will’s voice is honest and clear as he takes it all in. In front of them, a grand marble staircase curls into the second-floor landing. Wood carvings and frescos of wild beasts dance around them, illuminated by the small glances of the sunlight wandering into the courtyard. Suddenly, Hannibal feels Will pull him forward, the younger man — or him? — unwilling to break their shared embrace. Will laughs as he runs his other hand through the fountain’s cool water, glancing back up at Hannibal through lowered eyes.

Hannibal could almost groan as the fire pools in his stomach.

“Thank you.”

He forces himself to smile once more. “Think nothing of it, Will.”

“I’ve never seen a house like this,” Will confesses. “I…”

“Then come,” Hannibal tells him smoothly, the boy clearly overwhelmed. “Let me show you.”

They ascend the staircase together, Will just a step behind as he lets Hannibal lead him deeper into the house. The intricate wood door gives way with a creak under his hand. Will tightens his grip reflexively as they come into the darkness.

Hannibal considers, for a moment, letting go. Perhaps a taste of Will’s fear would taste almost as delicious as any other intimacy.

His fingers hovered over the lights for just a moment before he flicked them on.

Will’s hand was still entwined with his, but something had come over his gaze.

He lets the silence fall for curiosity’s sake.

A breathless sigh escapes Will and — ah, that’s not what Hannibal was expecting.

“I don’t know what to say,” confesses Will as he steps forward. Their hands finally break apart.

Hannibal can’t read this Will. The mask has slipped back on.

“How does it feel, stepping into the unknown?”

Will chuckles drily. “Would our conversations make me feel more comfortable here?” His hand traces the detailing on the table he’s moved to. He pauses, then glances back at Hannibal. The faint light in the sconces cast a soft illumination over his face. “I suppose I just didn’t quite — couldn’t quite picture the afterlife.”

“You’ve never been outside the U.S.”

“No, doctor, but you already knew that.”

Hannibal lets his eyes roll over Will. “Well then, let me take you to your room to get settled.”

As they walk through the hallway, Will pauses at each corner, taking in the space. “The kitchen is new.”

“I couldn’t have us go hungry.” Hannibal has a faint smile on his lips, but he’s perfectly serious.

“One could certainly never go hungry under your care.”

“I certainly would never let you.” He stops in front of one of the doors. “Here, Will.”

But Will lingers at the doorway. “Where are you?”

Hannibal’s eyes betray him before he can speak. “Down the way.” He gestures down the corridor of the fourth floor. Theirs are the only rooms.

“Abigail won’t hear my nightmares.”

“No, she won’t.” Hannibal takes a look into the room. It’s just the way he asked them to arrange it, all blues and soft grays. He wonders what Will will make of it.

“Time to go unpack, then,” Will jokes, his arms unencumbered.

“I’ll see you downstairs.”

The door swings shut softly behind him as he makes his way into his new room. He spares nothing but a glance for it, knowing it’s exactly to the taste he wanted. He’s lost the desire to care.

But he does find himself lingering by the closet, and before he can stop, he’s walked into the room. A change from Baltimore, but the space pleases him. 

Silk lined suits and cold cuffs line the walls. He hesitates over them, trying to stop himself, but he can’t. Frowning, he turns to the last wall in the closet.

It’s emptier than the others, but far richer for it. He lets his eyes sweep over the arm of a cut velvet blue sleeve, his hands linger at the box that displays the delicate gold watch.

The thought of taking Will to a proper tailor was highly appealing, but so was a night at the opera. A celebration with Abigail of their new life together.

Hannibal smiles.

The dress that hangs here would sweep over her delicate shoulders beautifully, laying stars over her skin.

Hannibal lets the memory die. There's a deep selfishness buried in his heart; for this, he has no desire for manipulation. Will’s indifference to further intimacies is quite clear.

* * *

He comes down the stairs to the light sound of laughs in the kitchen. The daylight broke through the looming windows as the afternoon lazily strolls into evening. 

Abigail is the first to glance up, used to him slipping into that house on the cliffs. “Dad.” Her voice is shy, and it amuses him to see her still hesitate on the edge of the knife. “Thank you for the clothes.”

“Of course.” He makes his way into the room, pausing at the opposite end of the marble island. “I hope the room is to your satisfaction?”

“It’s perfect.” She can’t fake her smile.

A breeze suddenly sweeps through one of the open windows, and he has to struggle to hide his surprise. Will smells clean and crisp, sandalwood and vanilla lingering on his skin.

Hannibal glances over the man and finds himself inordinately pleased at the new look. There’s a youthful softness to his face, his beard less rough than it had been in all the months he’d known him. The man meets his gaze frankly, betraying nothing. “Thank you, Hannibal,” he echoes. The clothes fit him perfectly.

Still, Will’s as perceptive as always. “Are you going out?” he asks, gesturing to the coat. It’s still quite chilly in Florence’s early spring, particularly as the sun hovers over the edge of the Duomo.

“I presume we’ll be hungry soon.” Hannibal steps away as he meets Abigail’s eyes. “Please excuse me while I run out for some food.”

“I can come.” Will straightens up. “I can help.”

“It’s not necessary, Will.” He lets a smile slip over him. “Go, enjoy your time with our Abigail. Celebrate.”

He turns, missing the disappointment bloom on Will’s face.

* * *

Their voices drift through the rooms before he hears the door push open. The candles dance with the whispering sunlight over the floor, but he doesn’t need it to prepare this meal.

“Did you get all of this today?” Will’s voice is curious. “I would have helped with the bags.”

“No need,” Hannibal answers smoothly. He looks over from his cutting board. “I had the kitchen stocked for our arrival; the only thing missing were a few essential ingredients.”

Will swallows.

“Vegetarian, Abigail?” He begins to dice once more.

The surprise is clear in Will’s face. “Did you —”

“No, dad just always offers.” She doesn’t need a second to answer. “Not tonight.”

“Will?”

“… I’ll take what the chef recommends.” Will's voice is quiet as it cuts through the kitchen, but his eyes speak enough.

Hannibal meets his questioning gaze with the smallest hint of a smirk. Now this was a game he was willing to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super overwhelmed by the response to this. Thank you, thank you, thank you <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d never had the opportunity to hunt like this, back when Jack Crawford plied him with dead bodies and stained corpses.

If there’s anything that’s worse than the nightmares, it’s the insomnia. The ghost of a hand on his face, wrapping his hands, cleaning his blood.

Will stares at the canopy of the bed mindlessly. He’s beyond caring. The adrenaline now propelling his brain leaves no room for thoughts.

Maybe the food’s disagreeing with him. Will snorts at that. In the week since they’d arrive, Hannibal had found a way to slip out every day for his “essentials.” Try as he might, he couldn’t find heads or tails of any meat after their dinners. Every other meal was vegetarian.

He couldn’t read Hannibal anymore. Ever since they’d stood in that kitchen, it was like a piece of body had been cut off; the tendrils of feeling still there, but only deep ache echoed. They’re shared blood.

Was that what had spoiled Will, deflowered him? Stripped him of all power?

Yet he could still tell a taunt when he saw one.

Will tries to close his eyes, pleading for that sweet release. Instead comes the faintest touch, softly caressing his neck.

 _Nope._ His eyes open slowly. _Not getting any sleep tonight._

* * *

“You’re uncomfortable with me calling you that.”

“Unsure,” Will corrects without hesitation, but he keeps his eyes on the ice cream. “I thought I’d killed you. Then that Hannibal had.”

Abigail’s voice is soft. “We didn’t leave on good terms.”

“No,” agrees Will. He glances up. “I’m sorry about that. About bringing you to Minnesota.”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you.” Abigail kind of stabs at her ice cream. “So was Agent Crawford.”

“I just wanted to start over,” she says abruptly before he can speak. “You know. If I just called you dad, and we acted all excited, we could just be a big family. Just like Hannibal said.”

“I have a way of ruining things like that,” Will replies ruefully. “You might have heard. I’m unstable.”

The soft beam of moonlight creeping through the windows caressed them softly. Suddenly, Will doesn’t feel quite as agitated.

“I wish I could see the world as you do.” Abigail glances up, holding his gaze. “It must be beautiful.”

Will swallows. “Usually.” His spoon hits the bottom.

“Want to play a game?”

The sudden shock on his face must be very clear indeed, because Abigail can’t hide her giggle.

“Not one of Hannibal’s. 20 questions,” she says, deftly scooping up their cartons. “I played it at the college tours. More ice cream?” Abigail opens the freezer, where they’re taking up a whole shelf.

“How do you — who got so much _ice cream_?”

“Brownie batter it is then.” Will catches the carton reflexively. “See, you already know how to play. Hannibal got them. For when I have nightmares. I don’t know how he knew I was coming to the kitchen, but they just popped up one night.”

“Hannibal approves of this…” Will scrambles for the right word, but he really just can’t process the good doctor putting any sort of pre-made sugar monster gunk into his body. 

“Nope, my turn to ask the question. But since it’s your first time, we have an unspoken agreement never to discuss it.” She leads him into living room, all bronzed wood ceilings and looming silk curtains and dark shadowed chairs. “And now I can blame all the extra ice cream on you. He is so judgmental about that. What’s your favorite meal from dad?”

“… chicken soup,” he answers, but the hesitation is clear.

Abigail just waits for him.

“He stopped by with breakfast when we first met,” Will says slowly, savoring the taste of the memory on his tongue even as the guilt piles low in his stomach.

“Cassie Boyle,” Abigail replies. He can’t read her now either. “He told me one night. Not much, though.”

Will feels his body sink deeper into the sofa.

“How did it feel like to die?”

“Better than it did to live. How did it feel like to kill?”

“Diving into a pool of crystal-clear water. Hungry and delicious.” Will stares at the dying embers of the fire. “I’ll protect you, Abigail. You don’t ever have to join — join Hannibal.” It’s weak, even to his own ears.

Abigail considers the spoonful of ice cream before her. It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyways. “But I already chose this life.” Her voice is slow, the smooth hair sweeping across her face. “I wanted us to be a family. My dads and I, together.”

He waits for the question.

“Can I call you that?”

* * *

The pendulum swings right, the ring echoing through the streets. It’s three in the afternoon, and just like clockwork, Hannibal strolls through the square, stopping here and there to murmur softly, turning over the options in his hand.

The light rain has begun when Hannibal finally presses off the last vendor with smooth apologies and charming smiles.

It’s a shorter man who follows him this time.

_This is my design._

The pendulum swings left.

He’d never had the opportunity to hunt like this, back when Jack Crawford plied him with dead bodies and stained corpses. Hannibal is a bright lure; the fabrics cut too fine, his polished Italian not hiding the fact that he’s new to this town.

The ghostly taste pools in his mouth as he slips through the darkening alleys and winding streets. Rain has quieted the masses, but Will could have followed him through a crowd. There’s purpose running through him now, driven by the sharp snap of sleepless nights and the cold darkness of the morning sun.

The man falls too easily into the snare.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, William.”

It’s the first time he’s summoned him, and Will finds the scene just as ludicrous as the first time he spied on Hannibal’s little game. Hannibal, arms laden with bags, the picture of a gentleman. He meets Will’s gaze clearly. This time, he’s not bloody.

Yet.

“Sta 'zitto,” the man spits, holding his knife to Hannibal’s neck. “I soldi, maiale grasso.”

Rage burns through him at the sight. The blade uncurls under his hand, but Hannibal binds to the spot. _This is my design._ Will knows. Will doesn’t care, because now it’s his design just as much, and when the blade brings just the hint of blood to that smooth skin, it’s not a game to him anymore whatever Hannibal wants from him.

“O ti fotterò il tuo frocio finché non grida per me.”

He's never seen Hannibal's self control just _snap_ , but he doesn't care to know why; he's already lunging forward, ripping through the man’s skin like paper as Hannibal breaks the wrist in a sharp crack, pulling the blade forward into that meaty expanse.

It’s over in a second and it’s not. The blood is thumping through him as he leans into the heavy weight, letting death wash over him.

And then it all comes crashing down.

* * *

“Hannibal.” The rain pours down his face. There’s not a part of him that’s not wet or soaking, but he can barely feel the cold embrace. It’s spring, and under the slight chill blooms a lightness.

He can only feel a tiredness seep through his bones.

“Hannibal. Please. Look at me.”

The rain slips off of the spun hair and onto the man’s delicate cheekbones as he lifts his head.

Will lets the body slide through his hands, forgotten, the blood turning to watercolors in the clarity of daylight.

“Please.” Will is pleading, and every fiber of his body, every nerve is aflame. “Please, Hannibal. _Talk_ to me.”

“Is that not what we do?” The timbre in his voice echoes through Will’s chest, but the emptiness leaves behind an aching void.

“No.” Will’s voice is but a whisper, but it grows with every word he growls through his lips. “Not since we came here. Goddamnit, Hannibal. No, you won’t just _talk_ to me.”

Hannibal finally draws back to him, that annoying amusement on his lips. “Well then, Will. You should have said something before. But here we are.” His voice is crisp, unshaken. But Will had seen the rage cut through his eyes… or was he still blind? “Your fourth kill. Or is it your fifth? Did it satisfy your urge for bloodlust?”

Hannibal’s game only restokes his dying fire. “Urge, Dr. Lecter?” If Hannibal’s going to be bitter, he’ll give it right back. “There are other things I’d much rather stick my knife into. If I was chasing a high, this one felt… impotent.”

The lazy sun is just overhead, caressing Hannibal softly as they stand, water and blood pooling around them in the alleys of Florence.

“Perhaps you should learn to be more discerning in your tastes,” Hannibal suggests blandly, ignoring the filth Will’s served to him on a silver platter.

“I’m finding that I’ve never been more discerning in my life, Hannibal,” responds Will just as blithely. “Or do you find some reason to disagree? What, precisely, do you think urges me so?”

“A family, for one.” Hannibal’s eyes glint. “Sometimes I wonder if the kinder thing would have been to leave you in that kitchen. Would you have found a family? A child to call you father?”

Outrage pours through Will. “I have a family,” he says, disgust in every word.

“A family I gave you,” Hannibal reminds him, inching closer.

Will doesn’t press back. “Why give me a family then? If you doubt me so much — if you think me so filled with _urges_?”

“Perhaps I just wanted to see what you would do.” Hannibal takes Will’s hand in his own, considering it, before he yanks the knife out. It falls, splashing the water across the cobblestones.

“I wanted you. I chose you,” Will reminds him. He doesn’t temper the anger, and he certainly doesn’t retreat.

“You killed when I forced you to it,” Hannibal corrects him. “For days you’ve waited. Followed when beckoned. Followed like a lost little dog.”

“I don’t care about your semantics, doctor.” Will growls, and it all comes pouring out. “Of course I was unsure, of course I was unsteady. I needed more time. You were asking me to give up everything. Do you really think after all — after all that we shared, that I could have truly gone back to playing life? Staring at beauty through others’ eyes?”

“You were right about me. You alone saw what was in me.” He doesn’t let Hannibal respond as he takes another step closer. “So no, when it comes down to it, I don’t care about Jack, or the fucking FBI, or even Alana and her sweet kissable mouth. That you fucked, I’m sure. I would gut them over and over if it meant I could stand for a moment with you. It may have taken me some time, _doctor_ , but I know who I am now. I don’t miss them. Most certainly not the way I ache for you. And, while we’re having this little heart to heart, do you really think I don’t understand why you waited to show her?” 

It’s Hannibal’s turn to take a step back. Will doesn’t particularly care why. He continues, addicted to the cuts he can see bleeding from the man. “You wanted me to choose you — and trust me, Hannibal, I get that, I really do. Not Abigail, not the killing, _you_. I can see you. Finally, goddamnit, I see you. And then showing me Abigail right then and there? Why couldn’t you just let me prove myself?”

He bites his lip. “I already wanted you, Hannibal. Knowing that you’d framed me for murder, thinking that you’d already murdered her, that you let my brain boil alive in my skull, manipulated me into every corner. But I needed more time. I’m not going to keep apologizing for that. If you want to keep playing games instead of just fucking talking to me, or, I don’t know, space and time to process transforming my _entire_ goddamn life, then it’s your fault you get hurt.”

Hannibal closes his eyes for the briefest moment. “So what is it that you want, Will?”

Will feels the antlers take root in his skull, craning out until they reach towards the heavens themselves. “What do I _want_?”

He presses forward without shame.

It’s nothing like what he hoped for. Hannibal is frozen in his hands. No, Will doesn’t want anyone who doesn’t want him. Maybe that is their last similarity.

He allows himself only the briefest touch.

“I see _your_ urges don’t run towards me after all,” Will says with a sneer, taking a step back as he thinks of all the times Hannibal’s hands had lingered over him, coaxing him towards him. A game. “Tired of your toy already, Hannibal?” He turns on his heels and strides off towards the last corners of darkness. For the first time in his life, he’s fully aware of himself. He can’t bring himself to care about the blood running over his skin. He’s already soaked in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I really struggled with writing this chapter and the next. 
> 
> How many torture games do we think poor Will can endure?
> 
> Kudos and comments are my life <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lie is already cold when it echoes in his mind.
> 
> He’ll stay because he wants death to hold him tight once more.
> 
> He’ll stay because of his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay! I've been sick, and then when I was getting ready to write the next few chapters, they felt off to me. So I'm rewriting this and the next, and then back to a plot I'm really excited for.
> 
> Thanks for all the patience and kudos 🖤🖤🖤

The heady ambrosia rushes through his body. Air is almost a letdown, sobering Hannibal with a cruel kiss as he opens his eyes.

Will’s disgust shines right through his eyes, and Hannibal’s frozen, his heartbeat a thick echo.

Paralyzed as Will turns on his heels and walks away.

* * *

Somehow he weaves his way back home, the soft hum lingering in the garage’s dim light as he gets out of the car. The body he deposits, the door closing with a cold slap.

Somehow he makes it up the stairs.

Somehow, he finds the house stripped of colors. The light dry, the air bitter.

“Dad?”

Her eyes glance up from where she’s curled up in one of the chairs, flitting minutely to a spot on his face.

He wipes it away with a flick. The copper tang of blood lingers.

“What happened?”

“Will kissed me.” Hannibal replied, his murmur rough. He opened the cabinet slowly, picking out one of the wine glasses.

* * *

Will wants to sink into the ground when he rounds the corner. The rain beats down on him, but it’s not heavy — not heavy enough to drown him.

The pain is unbearable.

It’s the sharpest agony, to know the truth and be unable to change it. He’d always known it. He’d seen it in so many eyes. Alana. Jack. His lawyer.

It had taken Hannibal’s rejection to understand how little all of them had mattered.

_Get up, Will_.

The water drapes over him as he stands up fully, each step a cold pain. He’s soaked full through.

Slowly, Will makes his way back to the alleyway.

He’d prepared himself, Will whispers back to the voice in his mind. But that doesn’t matter.

The alleyway is bare. The rain has washed away the blood stains upon the fair city, let the monster disappear into the night.

It’s as if they had never existed.

Will lets himself have one last look before he turns away.

* * *

“I never would have guessed dad was the type of guy to make the first move,” Abigail mused, apparently delighted, relieved, by that smallest morsel of information as she returned to her book.

Hannibal froze.

Slowly, he put the wine glass down onto the counter and unflexed his hand _._

No, Will was not the type of man to make the first move, and if he did, it was only as an act of pure self-destruction. In all of their conversations — even with Hannibal’s many hints and many more lingering hands — the FBI profiler had never brought up dating.

There had only been Alana’s rejection and Margot’s deception, and Will — Will had made it clear enough that he hadn’t expected anything less.

Of course Will had run off. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the details settle in his mind. Will may have been a natural in death, but he had no understanding of this particular dance.

The memories flickered through his mind unbidden. Will pushing himself back into the ladder, his eyes so unsteady. Will barely aware of Hannibal’s hands on his face as he stared at the bload-soaked man, the soft caresses he’d left behind in all those bloody ruins. No, it wasn’t that Will didn’t want him — Will didn’t speak this language at all. He was only left staring through the veil, forever watching the world pass by around him.

And he’d watched Hannibal take Alana. Why would Will understand? He hadn’t understood how much she was just a useful excuse as the noose tightened.

Wine forgotten, he left for the library, leaning out onto the balcony’s edge. Hannibal pressed further into his mind, coaxing out every morsel that might show him the truth as the night air kissed him.

The scent of arousal had been thick that first morning when he’d approached the door. Bloodlust, he’d assumed, but the shame in Will’s eyes had made him recoil when he realized the younger man regretted the choice he’d made. No, Hannibal reminded himself, drawing back to the present. He’d been too quick to jump to conclusions. Bloodlust, perhaps, but he could see now the flush in Will’s face so clearly, it was as if he was standing in that room once more. _Embarrassment._ His cock straining so tightly at the silk boxers, his breath light and panting, his cheeks warm with desire and embarrassment all rolled into one tight knot.

_What were you dreaming of, dear Will?_

He finds he savors the thought on his tongue.

* * *

Will walks.

Will walks until the cobblestones burn through his shoes and into his very bones, and then he walks some more, and then until, with the cold, nothing really burns quite so much anymore.

The crowds wander in and out as the rain disappears. The lights still cast a faint glow across the puddles, dancing as tourists and Florentines alike break through them.

Hannibal would be home at this time of night, he knows, with one of his many drinks in hand. If he’d been anyone else, Will would have called him an alcoholic.

Well, he’d be a _functioning_ alcoholic.

The man in front of him hurries his date off, glancing back at the laughing American nervously.

Will smiles into the darkness, finally letting himself take in the beauty of the city he’d walked for weeks now.

And then he walks some more.

He can’t go home. Not until he’s burned this want out of his chest. Not until —

Will knows then, now, what his answer will be.

He’ll stay.

Will feels the desire grow in his belly, deep and dark. He only has to close his eyes to see the blood sing, to feel the freedom deep in his bones.

_It doesn’t have to be for Hannibal_.

The lie is already cold when it echoes in his mind.

He’ll stay because he wants death to hold him tight once more.

He’ll stay because of his family.

He’ll stay because Hannibal is the only one who knows him now, and he’ll pretend everyday there is nothing more; because there can be nothing more, even if he has to light the pyre beneath himself and burn it entirely out.

* * *

The blood glimmers as he removes it, drop by drop, from the pig’s body. Hannibal considers him slowly. His Baltimore house had been one of the true delights of his love for architecture; the basement his best work. But he could only walk through it in his memories now, and it was of no consequence to him.

This was an opportunity.

But his thoughts let him wander away from the ache deep inside of him. For once, Hannibal must trust.

He has to trust himself.

The slow drip provides a pleasant hum as, one by one, he places his knives into the bag. They’re hidden, at least, in this small little room off the garage, Abigail sleeping sweetly above.

He leaves the body for last.

* * *

“Will.”

The sun burns into his eyes. Will can see himself there, in that moment, a wreck of red eyes and ruined clothes as he stands on the bridge overlooking the city.

Clothes Hannibal had bought him, too.

What if this word was a hallucination?

Or, _worse_ , a memory?

He closes his eyes as he finally lets himself stop. The exhaustion is nearly enough to pull him down.

“Will.”

He opens his eyes.

The car buzzes behind them as Hannibal’s feet hit the cobblestones.

He can pretend until Hannibal puts his hand on his shoulder, waiting.

They’re standing on a bridge overlooking the city, the sun gentle as it begins to climb. The lingering murmurs of a town just beginning to awake.

_Don’t retreat, Will. Stay here._

He doesn’t need to remind himself. The stream is a long way away.

But Hannibal speaks first.

“Will you come with me, Will?” He pauses. “Please.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could see the apology that had curled up on Hannibal’s tongue, and he knew this was the most he would ever get.

Hannibal followed Will’s gaze out over the city as the wind fluttered to life as he placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. Only a few were stirring, leaving the winding streets empty for now.

“How’d you find me?” Hannibal felt the man tense, his hands firm in his pockets. His body still held the same coldness festering since the hospital.

“I left several hours ago.” Hannibal paused, taking in the sight. Ignoring the frost that still seeped into Will’s voice. “You were not easy to find, but I was reasonably sure you were still in the city.”

Will chuckled, but even that rang false. “Not entirely predictable, then.” He lifted his gaze to the sky, squinting in the new light of the dawning morning. “So where are we going? Have you come to bring me home?”

Hannibal lets the silence settle for a moment, the only thing he could give Will. “I thought we might both need a break from the city.”

After a second, Will turned. Hannibal felt his stomach clench at the emptiness threatening to drown Will’s eyes, the tell-tale way his shirt clung to his body, the sorrow that rose from his very skin. But he lets nothing come to his eyes.

The ache — if it truly is the same for Will — echoes just as hard in him.

“Abigail?”

“Safe at home. I believe she has some news for you.”

Will’s mouth set in a firm line.

“She’s been looking at several universities,” Hannibal amended. “I gave her some personal recommendations for where to explore in town. She thought to make it a surprise.”

Hannibal let his hand fall, and, seeing Will jerk his head, made his way back to the car. The ride is smooth as they pull away onto the road running north, the paved streets slowly turning to hard dirt beneath them.

“In my youth, I would come to these hills nearly every day.” The offering is simple — polite, even. “In America, one must be something, but in Italy one can simply be.”

“Quoting some ancient Roman poet?”

Hannibal glanced to the side, one hand on the wheel. Will’s twisted his fingers into his hair, perched on the side as he looks at the landscape running by.

“A rather modern one. Pietros Maneos.”

“Wonderful.” Will tilted his head Hannibal’s way. The question hangs between them, and Hannibal finds himself delighted by each second.

“Hannibal… is there by any chance a—” his tone took on just a hint of familiar sarcasm “— _body_ in the trunk?”

He shrugged and looked back over.

They both felt the pause intimately.

“Of course, Will.”

“I see Italy’s given you a refreshing honesty,” Will finally responded. “Of some style.”

“I told you, Will. In America, I was Doctor Hannibal Lecter, very much innocent of all of FBI Special Agent William Graham’s very _many_ accusations. Though,” he added after a moment, “I like to think the board has revoked my license by now.”

“… And here?”

“Here I am Hannibal, and you are Will.” Hannibal met the profiler’s sharp eyes with a hidden smile. “And he,” Hannibal motioned back over his shoulders, “is just another dead body.”

Will might roll his eyes, but Hannibal finds it quite worth it to see some kind of amusement slowly bloom once more. Hannibal found the simple truth just as refreshing — a freedom, if his offering was acceptable, that he might soon indulge in without the lingering hesitation that still weighed down his very bones.

* * *

The car between them was a welcome distance as he slowly made his way out and stretched his legs, the dried fabric making a loud crinkling noise as he did so. Hannibal had parked on the higher part of a hill, the grass sloping down into small clearing now overhung by olive trees.

He took the moments without thought, the words between them a deepening pit in his stomach.

“Will.”

The man opened his eyes. There he was again, the touch on his shoulder searing Hannibal’s mark into his skin.

Grounding him.

Will turned, swallowing.

Hannibal observed him, and what he saw must have been enough to move him.

His eyes — those dark, unbreakable eyes — softened at last. Inviting Will, and all of his thoughts, freely in.

Completely motionless in Will’s gaze.

The former profiler let the offering drift on the air for a moment. Hannibal’s face had never looked more human in that one moment in the sunlight of the Florentine hills. The dark shadows that lined his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. Intricately made up, as always, but as if in a daze. It was the face of a man who had slept far less than Will had in his unrelenting walk, the face of a man cut to the core.

Something stirred in him, a bloom of feeling just beginning to break through the rot encasing his body. The bitterness stirred in his heart, the agony he’d felt — it twisted, somehow, twisted deep into him only to loosen its tight roots.

The memory of the day before as if a dream slowly melting away.

He looked. He looked at the face of a man who had felt no less than he did under the shadows of the moon.

Will raised one hand tentatively and brought it to Hannibal’s cheek, a light finger delicately tracing the bone. He didn’t even need to place his hand to hear the quickening blood, the small tremor, the gasp unvoiced on Hannibal’s lips.

With a deep breath, Will pulled himself away, but Hannibal was quicker. Dark eyes glinting with amusement, he stepped closer to Will — too close for it to be mistaken as anything less than intimacy.

It was Will’s turn to stand still.

“I brought you a change of clothes.” Hannibal’s voice was nearly a purr, enjoyment far too light on his tongue. “I thought we might have a picnic.” 

Too quick for Will once more, he stepped back, ducking back into the car — leaving Will only to watch from the outside.

* * *

Hannibal had insisted on pouring Will a glass of prosecco, forcing Will — or pulling, rather; pulling with that glinting charm — onto the bed of grass and blanket while he arranged the rest of the stage.

Something began to grow in his belly then, a small breath of hunger to meet Hannibal’s growing game.

He had a choice in that moment, and Will wondered then how far he might be able to push it. Their game — their dance, in Baltimore, had been one of cold words and barbed touches. But he _had_ felt the delicate thrum of Hannibal’s care, the underlying touch coaxing him out. Even though he had been cold with the man, even as he gave commitment and uncertainty rolled into one.

And then there had been the other side of him: the beast within him uncurling in contentment under Hannibal’s ministrations, lithe and dangerous and confident.

One that he had never shown Jack or Alana or Hannibal — but Hannibal, Hannibal had _known_.

A match for Hannibal. Everything he coveted in the man, in the darkness of his kills.

He could see the apology that had curled up on Hannibal’s tongue, and he knew this was the most he would ever get.

Closing his eyes, he let the coldness drift above him.

Waiting.

Seeing.

* * *

“How Botticelli himself would have painted you.” Hannibal’s whisper danced in the wind, and Will let his eyes open once more, let his body drink in their surroundings. Let himself relax for the first time since they’d come.

A certain languidness settled into his body as he observed the scene below. Hannibal had indeed had a body in the trunk, and he’d wasted little time in preparing it on the stones below.

“What was this?” The curiosity came freely.

“A temple, maybe,” Hannibal replied, looking up. There was more of a smile to his face now. “Or a gathering area. To be perfectly honest, I did little research. The ancient Romans left their footprints all over this land. But for us, it can be whatever we want it to be.” 

Will cocked his head as he took in the sight of Hannibal, sleeves all rolled up and knife ready in one hand, the other holding the man’s face gently. Amused. Waiting.

“So — tell me, Will. Are you observing or participating?”

“Neither.” Hannibal sat back on his heels, the faintest tension settling in his jaw.

“I’d rather learn.”

His doctor let loose a breath Will hadn’t realized he’d been holding, hand slowly offering up the knife to the profiler.

With a calm hand, Will pressed himself off the ground and made his way over to the man. He took the offered knife gingerly, considering the weight as he came back down to the earth.

A showcase it was to be then.

“Was this how you prepared the last tree?” His eyes flicked up to meet Hannibal’s. A faint glimmer of his past life bubbled under his skin, but it dissipated just as easily as it had the last few times.

Will wondered what would happen when he inevitably stopped remembering those last few ties to humanity at all. Or, he amended, to that peculiar old life of his — this man, this criminal who’d tried to hurt Hannibal, certainly was no innocent.

There was no room for humanity in justice.

“Sometimes,” Hannibal murmured, bringing his hand down to trace the ribcage.

The body, Will noticed, was marble with the lack of blood.

“It depended on the work.” The cut was easy under Hannibal’s guidance, perfectly drawing into the faint line beneath them. “There was only so much I could do in my basement. The councilman required a more outdoor enviornment. For him, I found the basement was a necessity. It was a true pity to destroy it.” Hannibal paused, sitting back, considering. “Though certainly a useful endeavor.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever actually admitted a murder to me, doctor.” Will watched the last drops linger on the knife. There was only so much blood one could remove from the body. “What do you think I would have done?” he demanded suddenly. “If I had truly seen all of you, as you are now?” A beat. “If we had shared this, together.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Will.” He didn’t need to look up to see the man’s smile as the knife was taken from him. “If we wanted his lungs,” Hannibal demonstrated, “The is where we would cut. But any meat is worthless.”

Will could begin to smell the man know. How much did Hannibal? “Randall was so messy,” he answered finally. “I kept thinking of what you would do. How you would arrange him. How precise the cuts would be, how clean the mounting.”

“Randall deserved no more than what you gave him.” Hannibal pulled Will’s hand in once more, placing the knife back into it. “And I would have rather seen your work than taint it by my hand.”

“That, and it gave you plausible deniability.”

That at last got a chuckle out of Hannibal. “That it did. And how does this make you feel now, Will?”

Will grasped the knife delicately as he forged once more into the body before him. The flesh was smooth, yielding to his desire. Finally, he sat back, letting Hannibal’s hand go. But it didn’t fall away.

He turned it, watching Hannibal’s hand follow his.

“I feel that I’d rather not start our patient-doctor relationship up once more.”

He turned up to face the man.

All of the coldness of the day before had simply melted away, leaving nothing but a growing curiosity. A curiosity and a hunger.

 _Yes_ , he would tell Jack later, _it really was that easy_.

The air shifted around him, the antlers growing and settling upon his head.

It finally felt right. Not in a sense of good or evil, just… right. In a way his person-suit never had.

He wondered, bemused, what Hannibal would do now.

With a generous pause, Hannibal let his hand finally drop as he reached to his side, gently unravelling a roll of knives to choose from.

Patient, Will waited.

 _It really was that easy._ It was easy for him to take Hannibal’s offered knives, to let the older man tutor him in the fine art of dismemberment and butchery. It was as easy as taking up the knife in that Baltimore kitchen.

Hannibal glanced up questioningly, amusement touched on his lips.

“I suppose you have taught me some of this.” Will let the flesh fall away from the next cut, taking the branch Hannibal offered wordlessly.

The man understood him perfectly.

“They are two sides of the same coin, Will,” he answered, lacing his branch in tighter. “And I hope I may soon have the pleasure of you besides me in the kitchen once more.”

Will caught his hand.

He could feel the power beneath it; he knew that with anyone else, Hannibal would have taken them freely and without hesitation for such a rude interruption.

But.

_But._

“Why?”

But he didn’t demand the answer.

And Hannibal stood still, considering.

“We should finish,” Will whispered, searching for an answer still unwritten.

“No, Will.” Hannibal took his hand and pulled him up. His legs creaked from sitting for so long, stretching uncomfortably against the bare earth. “I believe it’s time to admire our work. For us to talk.”

Will didn’t know how long they stood there, staring at one another. For once, Will felt calm — soothed, even, in this strange little clearing.

Alone, with Hannibal.

With no one else to tear them apart.

And Hannibal —

Hannibal raised his hand to Will’s face, stepping around the body deftly.

Marking Will once more.

“Because I ache for you, Will.” Hannibal’s murmur was so soft as to set Will’s skin aflame. “Because I could finally see in you someone who understood me. Someone who might share a life with me.” He traced the cheek knowingly, eyes finally glancing up. “Tell me now that you do not feel the same.”

Will reached up, fingers lingering over Hannibal’s, even as he challenged. Even as he _had_ to challenge, ignoring the question that he knew Hannibal already understood the answer to.

“And yesterday?”

“I apologize, mylimasis.”

And that — that, for once, took Will’s breath away.

He stood there, wide-eyed, waiting, _marked_.

Hannibal smiled, but Will could see it, instantly — the true sorrow that echoed between them.

The true sorrow of an apology.

“I froze.” Hannibal’s voice cracked. But Will could see the thoughts crackling in his heads, still, and waited.

His trust was rewarded.

“You deserve so much more, mylimasis. You alone fought me. Knew me. Claimed me.” Hannibal lay his emotions bare across his face. “I would have you in any way you want me, Will. I would want you by my side in this day and the next. I have tasted the fruit of the tree, and I cannot now live without. I will not now _allow_ myself to live without.”

“But do you…” The words disappeared off of his tongue as he saw the man in front of him. Hannibal took the hand offered before him, pulling Will slowly closer. Leading him up to the trees as if walking towards the heavens themselves.

“Look, Will.” He turned with Will to face the offering laid out over the grassy plain and sloping stones. “Look and see.”

The former profiler closed his eyes.

“The animals will get to this before anyone ever finds it.”

“Let them. It was only ever meant for one person. What do you see, Will?”

He didn’t have to open them to see what’s written there as clear as day, but the beauty — the beauty is a glimmering lure that left his mouth dry with want.

Slowly, he stepped forward.

He could take in every precise cut they had inflicted upon the man — a corpse, truly, at this point, because there was nothing that could any longer be taken as a man — every mutilation, every brutality. Every point he had seen just minutes before as jagged blended together in a smooth symphony.

An offering, laid down for him, blood and meat mixed freely with the curving branches that appeared to swallow it whole.

“The olive tree?”

“Both peace and victory,” Hannibal murmured, the rich timbre of his voice spilling into the air around them. “The ancient Greeks thought it a gift from Athena herself, blessing prosperity to the Athenians. It was for the heads of the kings and the gods. A symbol of resurrection.”

Will glanced to his side, the weight a familiar presence.

A welcome one.

He could see the antlers fade, the black skin recede, as he considered Hannibal once more. Standing on the precipice for the eternity of a new life.

Together.

“I see,” he answered simply. Will let his eyes glance down, considering Hannibal in front of him. He’d felt the man catch his breath; it thrilled him, then, to realize the wonder Hannibal held him in.

In that moment, there was only them, two gods meeting on their earth.

“I can see you,” he echoed, letting his eyes linger before meeting Hannibal’s gaze. It had never really been a choice, if there was a choice between water and thirst.

The demand comes easily.

“Show me.”

Hannibal doesn’t even let the whisper fade before he presses forward with a groan, hand pulling Will into that searing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this was a lot to write, and I am so overwhelmed, and I hope you all love it! Please let me know what you think, I'd really, really appreciate it - and I hope you'll stick around as Will and Hannibal finally have some fun in the next chapter ;) And thank you all SO MUCH for the kudos!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will’s sleepy chuckle belied any hint of regret, and Hannibal could feel the smile bloom on his face. “To imagine,” he said, huskiness cutting through, “it was so easy.”
> 
> “On the contrary,” Hannibal whispered, letting their bodies ease back as he moved to stroke Will’s fair face, “you must know it was hard-won. And for that, mylimasis, it is all the more treasured.”

The kiss burns through him, a roaring flame that devoured everything in its wake. All of his hesitation, all of his coldness; every last vein of the morality he’d still pretended to, even as he sat with Hannibal, dined with Hannibal, killed with Hannibal.

And he wanted more.

He pushed his hand deeper into Hannibal’s hip, pulling the man closer to him just as Hannibal’s fingers twisted in his hair.

“ _Will_.” Hannibal’s moan echoed shamelessly between them.

He pulled away for just a moment them, letting their breath fall through the air. 

When Hannibal could finally look, it was all he could do not to push Will to the ground and take him right then and there. Those angelic curls framed eyes blown wide with desire and lips stung through with rushing blood. The boy — Will, _his_ Will, undoubtedly and irrevocably — looked positively drunk off of that one single kiss. Will answered with a low growl that ripped through him.

And then Will pulled him in, fingers firm as they knead into Hannibal’s ass — and he didn’t know how he could still get harder from Will’s all-consuming desire, but he did, as his lips crashed into Hannibal’s, the tide of want pounding through them both.

Will was only vaguely aware of his own strength in that moment. The blood coursed through him, the heartbeat the only thing he could hear. Hannibal’s body — _oh_ , God, that body, firm and hard and heavy and _his_ , yielding to his every want — he was dimly reminded that serial killers kept their heart rate steady in their kills, but Hannibal’s was beating quick and heavy — just for him, as Will pushed and pulled him further, anxiously gasping for each kiss, that sweet ambrosia only Hannibal could give him now.

They slammed into a tree, the ache reverberating through their bones. It shocked Will long enough for him to open his eyes once more, long enough to _see_ the unmistakable darkness seep into Hannibal’s eyes, their mutual desire laid bare.

With a firm hand, Hannibal flipped them around.

The look in Will’s eyes was enough to drive him to kill, and it took every iota of Hannibal’s being to stay and not take flight. Not to offer up each of those bodies up as worship, to let the blood run as Will took him. 

Will had never been with a man — and whatever his _enthusiastic_ response to being consumed, Hannibal had only one desire that ripped through him in that moment.

With hard hands and biting kisses, he held Will taut to the tree. Slowly, he pressed against the man, letting his lips run against his neck slowly.

Will had never been with _Hannibal_ , and Hannibal would make sure he would be the last. To hear Will’s pleasure screamed into the air — that was his one and only desire, the foci of his entire being in that moment.

And oh, how Will _wanted_ to scream.

Hannibal was devouring him bite by bite. Each soft press of his lips was a brand upon Will’s neck — and Will found himself wanting in that moment nothing less, nothing less than a bite that tore through him so completely there could be no mistaking who he belonged to.

The tree scratched bitterly into his back as he arched, his eyes closed to the heavens and his groan just as high as Hannibal made his way down his neck, tearing apart the buttons as he grasped his body closer, elegant fingers diving into the crevice between bone and muscle.

And then he had his wish. Hannibal gazed up with utter desire as he bite into Will’s hip, letting the flesh redden under his teeth, the blackness nearly consuming his very sight as his friend, his enemy, his lover proved his devotion so intimately.

He would never need anything else, Hannibal decided then and there, if he could forever gaze upon his beloved in the very throes of ecstasy. Hannibal wondered for a fleeting moment if Will could see the fire that tore through him, pushing him further and further to the blue-eyed Apollo that stood before him, or if, as he could feel through the thrum that echoed through Will’s own flesh and see through the shudder that passed in Will’s lips, he had almost passed through the very point of life where time itself meant nothing — nothing compared to the desire now blooded.

Will was on the very precipice, and Hannibal’s only desire was to fall with him over the edge.

With a flick of his finger, Will’s pants came apart, the button grasping for freedom as Will strained beneath. He tackled every want within himself to admire the flesh before him, swallowing him without even a second’s pause just to hear the whimper above as Will came utterly undone.

“Hannibal,” he found himself gasping, grasping for Hannibal’s head as his only anchor in this mortal world. This went beyond just a simple act of intimacy; this, _this_ was worship — of the divine, of the immortal, of the pleasure and the blood and the fury that ran through Hannibal’s eyes, those decadent eyes that bore into him as Hannibal’s sinful tongue pulled him deeper into oblivion.

“Hannibal. Hannibal. _Hannib — Hannibal_ —”

It was too much; it had to be _too much_ , because living could not feel like this. It could not feel like Hannibal’s warm suck, could not sound like the lewd moan that slipped through his lips — or were they Hannibal’s?

Will’s prayer poured into him, the very beat his heart raced to as he pushed his fingers deeper onto Will’s skin, as he took Will’s hard cock into his mouth with a moan that tore through them both, with a cry that broke through him as Will came —

And Will could only hear the pounding of time around them as Hannibal let him collapse, his hands snaking around Will as he laid him down unto the earth.

* * *

“Hannibal,” he murmured, but whether it had been years or simply moments was a matter of time and not of now.

“Will.” The man’s chest rose and fell on the word as he pulled his lover in closer.

Tilting his head back, Will realized Hannibal was gently massaging his head, his hands tangled softly in his curls.

It made Hannibal pause, but not for any kind of embarrassment; Will’s slow stretch under the full light of the sun was a wonder to behold.

Will’s sleepy chuckle belied any hint of regret, and Hannibal could feel the smile bloom on his face. “To imagine,” he said, huskiness cutting through, “it was so easy.”

“On the contrary,” Hannibal whispered, letting their bodies ease back as he moved to stroke Will’s fair face, “you must know it was hard-won. And for that, mylimasis, it is all the more treasured.”

Will stared into the abyss of Hannibal’s want for him, hearing his own echo back. But even then he couldn’t stop the weights dragging it down.

And Hannibal could see right through it.

“You are extraordinary.” Hannibal’s fingers curled in his hair, gently stroking the side of cheek.

Yet his breath was thick in his throat with embarrassment. 

“To bring you to such great pleasure, Will,” he continued, tracing circles, “is something I find myself quite desirous to repeat.”

Will let his eyes alight on the curving branches above them, the olive leaf almost loose upon the wind.

Finally, he could see the truth, and for that he let himself curl closer into Hannibal’s warm flame.

* * *

“We can take the elevator.”

Hannibal’s low voice startled Will out of his reverie as they pulled into the garage. A garage, Will noted, Hannibal had not managed to show him in his first tour of the house. Not that he could fault the European, he realized, with a sudden coldness.

_This is how it could have been_.

Thanking him, so barely, for the house and clothes and family Hannibal had given them — even as it was the final threads of that unending spider’s web of manipulation.

He could be happy, could live in a world of their own making if he let Hannibal carry them up to the heavens and leave the rest of mortality for the birds to feast on.

_Or_ , Will amended, _for us to feast on_.

“Will?” Hannibal ducked his head beneath the car, a faint smile on his lips. “Are you coming? I believe we’ve kept Abigail waiting for quite some time.”

* * *

Plating had always settled his mind rightly, but this night — no, Hannibal was sure that there was nothing in the world that could settle him now.

Will desired him.

It was all he could do not to let the blood pound through his head.

Any fear he had had of Will’s regret left his mind when he saw Will’s searching eyes on him as they made their way back.

All that remained to be seen was what Will would do now. He felt relatively confident of his prowess in the bed — but that was it, wasn’t it? There was no bed, not just yet. And his Will had the bad habit of running off when delt with too heavy of a hand. No, there would not be regret — he was fairly sure of that — but Will’s next move was his alone.

And, as he carried the plates into the dining room on his hands, confronted with the sight of his heart’s desire before him, he was reminded intimately and fervently how deeply Will unrooted him.

* * *

“So, Abigail.” Will carried the conversation forth, trying to skip over the unmistakable catch in his throat when he’d felt Hannibal’s eyes on him. The man had murmured the name of the dish in that musical lilt of his and it’d passed as if a breath on the wind.

And then Hannibal had let his touch graze of him as he placed Will’s plate down.

Will understood as soon as he caught the man’s eyes. It was soothing, grounding; a promise and a comfort.

They were here together now.

And so Will began again, letting the conversation flow freely between the three of them.

More than once, he caught the question in Abigail’s eyes as she looked to Hannibal to continue.

And Hannibal only had to look at Will.

_This is how it_ will _be_.

“… in Rome, at most, but I’m most stuck on what I’d like to study,” Abigail replied. Will had to chuckle at himself when he realized he’d spent to long gazing at the loving pair Hannibal and their daughter made. She’d become more comfortable here, that was clear to anyone with a pair of eyes — something he’d clearly lacked just days before. She no longer wore a scarf tight enough to choke, and her clothes, too, were less utilitarian than in the days they’d spent at the hospital.

And all due to Hannibal, because he certainly hadn’t contributed anything worthwhile.

“Do you have some of the universities’ books with all of the course offerings?”

The two turned to him, not in surprise, but certainly not in any clear expectation. He could feel the delight in Hannibal’s eyes, though if he looked, he was certain his face would be as precisely controlled as ever. Though, he amended, with that smallest hint of a smile he’d seen ever more frequently.

Abigail, however, was who he was focused on now, and her happiness was unmistakable — though with a touch too much control for someone her age.

“Actually, I did meet someone at the campus bookstore who pointed them out,” she said, before taking another bite. “Anthony was very helpful. And they had books on several of the local ones.”

“Anything in particular that caught your eye? And Hannibal, this is delicious.”

“Of course it is.” Abigail tried to hide the laugh behind her hand, but Will could see it in her eyes — and she could only laugh more when he caught her. “But yeah —”

“Yes,” Hannibal said smoothly.

“Yes,” Abigail replied, with a joking roll of her eyes. “Yes. I thumbed through most of the books, but I’m going to go back and take a closer look. We didn’t really specialize in anything at my high school. I’d like to narrow it down a bit more before I look at which one really specializes in a subject.”

“Well said,” replied Hannibal approvingly, the red meat falling apart at the touch of his knife. There’s a glint in his maroon eyes as he considers Will, and Will… Well, Will can only answer back in kind, letting himself savor the taste once more.

Hannibal’s genuine delight, he finds, is something he likes to see.

And so is Abigail’s. He can see the curiosity in her eyes, her innate perception that something’s changed. Not that it would have taken much to see, but yet it’s another hint of what he’s seen in her before, that sharpness in the hospital.

For the first time in his life, Will wonders if he can teach someone else how to slip safely into others’ minds. Help Abigail to learn his tentative control.

* * *

Cleaning the dishes is a welcome chore. Hannibal never allowed such intimacies for his guests, caring as he was over every inch of his beloved display.

Abigail filled the space between them with light laughs, the three of them with sleeves rolled up and hands covered in suds.

“I’m going to go read in the library,” she announced, handing Will the last plate.

He looked to his side as he stood up, closing the dishwasher. “What’s the book?”

“Winckelmann,” she explained, as if that explained anything. “Dad’s teaching me about art.”

Will had to stifle a yawn. “I’m just tired,” protested Will jokingly at her muffled laugh. “We can discuss over breakfast tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes gleamed. “Night!”

On the other side of the kitchen island, Hannibal waited for them with amusement. Abigail touched him lightly on the shoulder and murmured softly, their faces turned before she flounced out with far too much energy in her step.

“What a lovely dinner, Will.” The wine was a brilliant red in his hands, the light glancing off of it as he took a quiet sip.

For a moment, Will let his light-hearted annoyance show. “Am I the only one in this house who needs sleep? I didn’t realize I’d joined a family of vampires.”

“Not at all,” Hannibal vowed, the hint of a smile gracing his lips. Will was beginning to know that smile and the delight it hid all too well, the deep pit in his stomach opening once more. With a fluid step, he seemed to fly to Will’s side — something that did _nothing_ to stifle Will’s sleep-deprived amusement at his joke.

The heavy beat of his heart echoed in the silence, the two considering each other softly.

“Goodnight, Will,” Hannibal answered, his voice suddenly heavy. “I —”

With a light touch, Will pulled Hannibal in firmly. The man answered with a groan, lips panting with want as they joined together once more. In that one second Will could only feel Hannibal’s arms around them, the air thick with desire and his tongue frantic to taste him once more.

“Goodnight.” Will whispered back, letting Hannibal step back with an unsteady gaze, pupils blown open with full-fledged desire. 

“You need — you need sleep,” Hannibal echoed, though it seemed more to reassure himself than Will.

“Of course.”

He didn’t open his eyes as the footsteps faded and the room turned dark, just let himself breathe in the cold instead. The minutes passed slowly until finally he let himself move once more.

The strange fire that lingered in the air began to shudder in his bones, feasting on the exhaustion that had teased him for so long that day. By the clock’s own estimate, Hannibal should have settled in by now.

Hannibal had blown out the candles on his way up, and the lone lights glimmered as Will made his way through the house. He paused, for a moment, outside of the library where Abigail was happily ensconced with her book, before continuing his slow prowl up the stairs. There was no hurry: if Hannibal’s heart beat just as hard as his did, sleep wouldn’t come easily.

Finally, fingers tracing the slight wood inlay on the wall, he found himself standing in the hallway.

It was open. Without quite a thought, Will stepped though.

The room was empty, Hannibal’s clothes nowhere to be seen. Set aside just as properly as the dictations of his life.

His steps were quiet as he let himself drift in, pausing to admire the soft canopy of the bed.

“Will.” Hannibal appeared at the edge of a doorway, the light soft on his gray-golden hair as the soft fabric of the pants fell across the sharp curve of his hips.

With no small measure of shock, Will realized suddenly that Hannibal _was_ surprised to see him once more, that it was undoubtably wonderment he heard in that one gasp of his name.

“Hannibal,” he answered, his heart threatening to tear through his chest. For a moment, all words escaped him; he could only offer the invitation he had spent so long and so little turning over.

“May I join you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I have to apologize for the delay again... 2021 happened! I have the rest of the story mapped out, so very excited to speed up updates again in the coming weeks 🖤
> 
> Thank you all for following along! I was really nervous writing this out, and I hope you all enjoy 🖤🖤🖤


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Will would see him; soon, if all were to be believed, but just as brutally intimate as all he’d bared to him even before. Nothing would change between tonight and tomorrow. Nothing could change. Fate would have him; one way or another, and the lover for whom he would slay the entire world would see him in his entirety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is essentially all smut. Consider yourselves warned.

Hannibal paused, hands still wet as he considered himself in the mirror. Time stood still even as it raced through him, his heart pounding straight through his chest.

_What would Will see?_

_Old_ was the first word that came to mind; but if he was old, his body hardly betrayed him. His muscles were just as taut, lines glistening under the dying candlelight as he turned slightly, envisioning the boy’s first look at him. He was as he always was.

And Will would see him; soon, if all were to be believed, but just as brutally intimate as all he’d bared to him even before. Nothing would change between tonight and tomorrow. Nothing _could_ change. Fate would have him; one way or another, and the lover for whom he would slay the entire world would see him in his entirety.

And then the door creaked, freezing him.

 _No_.

He could hardly dare to dream.

No, the day was not over yet.

His beautiful, cunning, god-touched boy hovered on the precipice of _their_ bed, whispering his name, asking —

Will could hardly hear the words in his mouth as he whispered them.

 _Fuck, Hannibal is_ gorgeous.

It’d never occurred to him to even wonder what was under those heavy suits and plaid vests, even as he’d thought about Hannibal touching him, even as his cock twitched under those caressing whispers. No, Hannibal-the-man was very different than Hannibal-my-Hannibal, the omnipotent, heavy-lidded God who played games with him with a luxurious smile. No, deep down, Will had forgotten what he fantasized of; that out of Hannibal’s wonderful mind and deep-rooted care that stood a man, who —

Whose muscles were edged as if in marble, whose sharp cheekbones betrayed soft lips.

And, feeling the blush begin to burn on his cheeks, he was reminded once too many times that all of the courage he’d built up in his mind had very little to do with his courage now here.

A man, Will reminded himself, who was just as surprised to see him.

That courage was needless in the face of the overwhelming desire that suddenly swept through him.

“Hannibal,” he echoes once more, and in a few sharp strides he has his hand back on Hannibal’s ass, his other holding onto his head for dear life because —

He can feel Will moan, and that’s what breaks him, that little gasp, that selfish, almighty grip on his head as Will devours him, pushes him back into the wall, taking and demanding and _worshipping_. Because that’s what this is; sheer worship, dear devotion for the two gods who have taken all they want from the world to light themselves aflame.

“Wi—”

“Be quiet.” And he wants to reply, wants to say _something_ when Will’s lips lift off of his, as he feels the deep breath escape his lips, but he can’t because —

Will can feel the words form in Hannibal’s throat, and he lets himself go then, because, goddamnit, this is _not_. _the. time. for. speaking._ and he lets himself press hard kisses to Hannibal’s neck, feels the hard throb deep between him as Hannibal begins to groan, hears those sweet lips begin to beg and —

Hannibal leans back as Will continues his relentless assault, held hard in Will's hand as those sharp teeth graze his neck.

And Will can feel each thought throb in Hannibal’s head because, really, Hannibal isn’t that quiet and isn’t that discreet, not now when Will’s literally got him crying out for more, and Will can feel the desire between then; for the first time in his life, feed off of the burning, heart-wrenching desire that he _sees_.

“ _Will_.” And it’s little more than a moan now, Hannibal knows, because gods only know the soft touch of Will’s tongue and the claws that tear down his back as Will takes him in in one slurped gulp, his eyes looking straight up at Hannibal with heavy-lidded desire as he begins to move back and forth and forth and his tongue just _swallows_ him deeper down —

Oh dear god, he’s never done this before. But he can’t deny the hunger in him, a desire he’s never, _ever_ , felt in his belly before now, the unmistakable want to make his lover cry out for him.

It’s sudden, that’s the only thing Will remembers when Hannibal lifts him up with a growl and tears his mouth open, chasing the taste of himself down Will’s throat, rips the shirt off of him, buttons exploding with a slow pop. Will trips for a moment when those hard hands force off his pants, but he’s fine because — Hannibal, oh dear god sweet lord Hannibal lifts him up and tosses him back on the bed and Hannibal —

Hannibal’s dick is so obscenely hard at the site of Will leaning back, lips ripened with a berry blood kiss as he just waits for him, every thought of his chased out of his head.

“Will,” Hannibal growls, pushing the boy into the pillows.

“Will,” he whispers, nipping at his neck as his beautiful boy only moans, neck arching under his tongue. “ _Will_.”

Bottom or top, and no, Will’s never really thought of it that deeply before, hadn’t considered the intimacies he was now desperate to feel.

“Will,” Hannibal murmurs, letting the blood pound between them as he sits back on Will. “You have to tell me what you want.”

And Will can only let his breath fall as he takes in Hannibal, holding himself back so clearly, hair fallen aside as the sheer want screams from tight muscles, ready to let him run straight back out into the rain, hovering just over his cock.

It's not a statement as much as a question, a desperate plead that hovers on his lips. Hannibal crashes onto him, and Will wants to cry, because it’s just too _much_ , it’s so much to feel Hannibal’s heavy dick lean into him, too much to feel Hannibal’s hand hold tight to his cheek, too much, and pleaseplease _please_ please **please** is the only thing that can tear itself from his mind when Hannibal slips that first finger in.

And it’s cold and wet but warm at the same time, and Will can’t wonder anymore when Hannibal touches _right. there._ and makes him arch straight off the bed —

“You’re doing so good for me, mylimasis. Relax for me. Stay here with me, my beautiful boy.” Hannibal's voice is rough and shaken, brought undone by Will and only Will, and _oh god_ Will can feel his desire, his want, his _sheer_ desperation to drive the pleasures of hell itself through him.

Will wants to say something, wants to do anything to tell Hannibal he’s still here, he’s still in this Eden Hannibal’s made for them, but he can’t talk, he can’t even murmur, so all he can do is moan, harder and harder —

 _No one can hear you_ , my darling, and it’s enough to break him.

Will’s whimper when Hannibal slowly slides his fingers out is nearly enough to make him cum. It’s all Will, truly; the sight of him laid out like a feast, debauched and begging for Hannibal to take him in ways he truly couldn’t comprehend.

The peace only lasts a moment before he lifts himself up over Will once more.

It’s not pain; not really, not the pain Will thinks of when he’s faced the BSHI or Alanna’s doubt or Abigail’s death or being shot or stabbed or run through the frozen cold. It’s a strange pain, a slow burn, one that holds him in the passionate warmth of Hannibal’s arms, time standing still.

He opens his eyes, drinking in the vision of Hannibal, eyes dark with desire as he waits.

And waits.

Waits for Will’s order, Will’s command, Will’s _desire_.

And that’s enough to feed Will for a lifetime, but not enough to ever sate the hunger in him, in this new pleasure that only Hannibal can match.

He can only answer with a slow moan and a cry of more, _yes_ , Hannibal, _deeper._ faster _._ **more.**

The drop of sweat breaks over his face as Hannibal holds onto him for dear life, as he can feel the power between his thighs as Hannibal thrusts deeper, his cock throbbing and full in Will’s ass, hitting that pleasure-filled spot right _there_ as Hannibal drives into him at an unrelenting pace.

But it’s Hannibal’s fingers that do it, his hand pulling at Will’s cock. Hannibal can feel Will cum, feel his seed spread over him as Will milks him, pulling him even deeper. It’s too much, it’s all too much; and Hannibal cums with a groan, their cocks pulsing between them, blood pumping.

With a soft shudder he falls to his side, soft as he slips out of Will and pulls his beautiful boy into him, lets their soft murmurs dance between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... have never written something like this so I hope you all enjoyed 🖤🖤🖤


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And wasn't that the greatest manipulation of all, for Hannibal to throw away every game in his vast mind palace and ask Will to see that this was what he wanted? Only a day; only twenty-four hours — that was all Hannibal needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild smut and mostly fluff 🖤

Will groaned as the thin sliver of light hit him just so through the sweeping green curtains. Reflexively, he arched his back, burrowing deeper into the warm arm —

He froze.

Will could feel Hannibal tense behind him, and he wanted to kick himself.

"You're _awake_ ," came the accusation, the words catching on his yawn.

"Guilty," Hannibal finally replied. "Sleep is not much of a necessity to me."

Something that felt oddly like butterflies began to flutter in his stomach. _An opportunity to not fuck up everything like normal_. 

"What a pity," Will murmured, turning to nestle in his lover's arms. "I've never... I've never had someone to wake up to." The confession was unexpected, even to him.

His breath caught then. Will could feel it, could hear the emotions running just under Hannibal's cold blood. Nervousness and desire all rolled into one; Hannibal Lecter — _Dr._ Hannibal Lecter was _unsure_.

Will found he quite liked being on the opposite side for once.

"What time is it?" His eyes peaked up drowsily. Hannibal was perched on one arm above, the other cast over him with the growing firmness of his possessiveness. 

"Nearly seven," whispered Hannibal, studying the curly-haired nymph below him, the unfamiliar clench of his stomach slowly relaxing. _I've never had someone to wake up to_. No, not regret.

All of that want, and only for him. The deep pit grew in Hannibal.

"I promised Abigail breakfast." Will pulled himself in deeper in to Hannibal's arms, breaking through Hannibal's thoughts. "I have to get up, don't I?" he joked, glancing up.

He paused, letting a dark gleam hover in his eyes.

Will frowned.

Hannibal leaned in gently to kiss Will's neck. "Yes —" a sharp nip to his ear "you _do_."

Will let out a sharp yelp as Hannibal picked him up with a quick toss. But the smaller man soon shut up, sleep forgotten, distracted as Hannibal held perched him on his hips, legs holding on for dear life around Hannibal's hard stomach. 

"A shower, I think," Hannibal said breathlessly, slamming Will into the black-edged marble wall. Will looked up at him with hooded eyes and a moan, hand clenched around Hannibal's hair just as hard as he claimed his kiss. Hannibal pinned him in with his body, right hand blindly searching for the handle.

Will couldn't not take advantage of Hannibal's distraction, pushing the man back under the scalding water with a sharp snarl. Hannibal's gaze was dark, lust and awe one and the same. "May I?" He whispered, gracefully lowering himself to his knees that belied wavering nerves and a growing wonder at the depth of Hannibal's feelings. 

Hannibal swallowed heavily, nodding as Will brought his hands to his curls. Hannibal's cock stood heavy and erect, uncut, a sheen barely visibly at the very edge. Will leaned in, nipping the pale skin in front of him before he turned to gently kiss the side of his new-found god.

Slowly, the steam began to rise in the room.

* * *

“Hannibal.”

Will’s voice caught itself on the air; it was a strange note, tinged as it was with the softness of the new morning.

He didn’t have to turn to feel the doctor’s pause, the pause before those footsteps came behind him, stepping from the warmed marble onto the soft-shorn carpet, both naked as the day they were born.

The room spoke enough. Smooth-cut mahogany stretched into the sharp crevices of shelves, the cold silver of the rods shining in the empty space. But the emptiness only permeated one side.

He saw the other from the corner of his eye.

Though few and far between, the suits had been hung up delicately and with great care, the sweaters folded gently on top the shelf. Two pairs of shoes sat side-by-side, the dark velvet of the right catching the light’s flutter.

He glanced back at Hannibal. The man held himself on the precipice of the doorway, the only betrayal of his feelings the tight grip on the carved wood.

A hard lump caught in his throat as the scale of Hannibal’s gift — his _desire_ — was splayed open like a feast. He'd lost his surety somewhere between Hannibal's unrelenting grip on his hips and the drenching fall of the water. A sort of purifying baptism into the dawn of the new day, Will supposed.

“This isn’t your closet.” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement, the truth bare before them. “You did all of this,” Will murmured, swallowing deeply. They both knew he wasn't only talking about the closet. “For me. For us.” He corrected himself sharply. His steps were smooth, his fingers shaking as he touched his lover’s cheek once more. “You wouldn't have told me.”

The truth depth of Hannibal's feelings was like a wave rolling over him: brutal, desperate, heady. As much as he may have seen before, it made Will dizzy with realization — that Hannibal, such a master of manipulation, brilliant and sophisticated and elegant, wanted to win Will.

Nothing the doctor had thrown at him in Baltimore could compare, Will realized as the pendulum swung once more. And wasn't that the greatest manipulation of all, for Hannibal to throw away every game in his vast mind palace and ask Will to see that this _was_ what he wanted? Only a day; only twenty-four hours — that was all Hannibal needed.

All that Will had needed. _Taken._ _Easy._ No, needed.

_No one else. Only for me._

The beautiful symphony ran through him, cracking those last few walls of cold and anger and deceit.

“I would have waited.” Hannibal’s hands unclenched, his eyes tracing Will’s soft face with more questions than answers.

_His care._

“Thank you, Hannibal,” Will whispered.

His darling boy’s eyes burned bright as they glistened, and the loveliness of the sight was almost enough to distract him as Will leaned in for a chaste kiss.

 _Almost_. Nothing compared to those red-plucked lips, nothing to the rough stubble under his fingers.

"Perhaps a kill would have been in order," Hannibal confessed.

Will chased his groan with a light laugh, pulling Hannibal into his arms with a teasing squeeze. “Matching closets?”

“Only civilized,” Hannibal murmured, tracing the jawline with biting nips. “Practical, even.”

“Show me.” Will’s demand was playful as he captured Hannibal in one more bruising kiss. “What did you hide in here instead of in that bedroom?”

Hannibal pushed him back into the room, flipping him around with ease as he let his left hand wander down the curve of Will’s oblique. “Proper clothing,” he growled, Will taking advantage to grind his ass against Hannibal’s slowly hardening cock.

“God forbid I wear jeans and sweaters every day.”

“Those were simple _basics_.” His voice was low in Will’s ear, chasing the catch of the shorter man’s voice. Hannibal tugged one of the jackets closer.

“Leather?”

“Broaden your horizons.”

Will couldn’t hide his chuckle. Looking up as he leaned back into Hannibal’s arms, a soft wave of pleasure ran over him when he saw the quiet crinkle in the man’s eyes. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d let me dress you up,” Hannibal murmured with a smile, ducking down to taste Will’s lips once more.

Will paused, and then pulled back, his wide grin belying his conspiratorial tone. “You have more surprises, don’t you?”

“Always,” Hannibal promised, a chuckle breaking through his kiss.

* * *

"— so it's just a torso?"

"Yes," Abigail replied, her eyes glued to the page as she raced across the words. "Here," she said triumphantly, shoving the book back towards Will. "They think it's a copy of an older original. That's the case with a lot of these works. But the twist of the muscles, the physicality —"

Will couldn't help the faint feeling that the torso looked very familiar.

"Strawberry pancakes for the _madonna_ ," Hannibal proclaimed with a flourish, breaking through their study. Will was beginning to spot that hidden smile more and more.

It took him all of a minute to study the book upside down. "Ah, the Belvedere Torso," he said, with far too much wonderment. "Truly an inspiration for all artists. And for you, Will, tart blackberry." His eyes glimmered as they met Will's. With a slight squeeze of his hand, Hannibal made his way back to the edge of the island, where he'd settled with the morning paper.

Will smiled unconsciously, the pink burning the tips of his cheeks as he turned back —

As he turned back to Abigail, who wasn't even bothering to hide the playful roll of her eyes. 

He could feel the burn acutely. 

" _What?_ " he demanded in a whisper, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to keep a straight face as she glued her eyes back to the page studious air.

Will took a bite to avoid responding. "So, are you sure you don't want to study art history?" he asked on a more serious note. "You really seem to have found a passion for it.

Abigail sighed, looking back up from the book as she aimlessly took a stab at her pancake. "I'm just not sure," she confessed. "There's so many options, so much to take in, and —" she lifted her fork up, pausing for a moment to eat. "These are _really_ good," she muttered, eyes wide.

She shrugged. "I want to take a little bit of time to decide. Dad and I had looked over some of the subjects back in the U.S. He suggested maybe we could go to Rome one of these days."

"Yeah." Clearing his throat, Will flipped over another one of the textbooks in front of them — this one for marine biology. "Well, if you're looking at some of the STEM disciplines..."

* * *

It was mid afternoon; suddenly, and too soon, but the need to tell Will — after all of the last day — was only an ever-growing weight of urgency.

Hannibal paused at the doorway of his bedroom, clatter faint in the distance. 

The source of the noise became quickly apparent as he made his way through the bathroom and towards the left-side closet. An unexpected wave of pleasure touched him softly.

"You're moving in," he murmured, staring at the man kneeling in the heap of clothes.

Will glanced up, eyes crinkled by that slow, unbidden smile.

"If it's not terribly presumptuous, doctor." He perched himself on one knee, placing the shirt to the side. "Though I'd argue that distinction belonged to you first."

Hannibal paused, the words heavy on his tongue.

"It's not this," he said sharply, sharper than he intended, seeing the tension suddenly set in Will's shoulders.

Will watched him with those dark blue eyes, considering. "Can it wait?"

Hannibal took a deep breath. "I'm afraid not," he finally murmured, hating himself for disturbing this moment. 

"Tell me, Hannibal," said Will, hesitation dogging his words. But he caught the uncertainty even faster this time; faster than Hannibal had ever laid himself bare. "I ca — I trust you, Hannibal. I can be in this with you, together. I just need truth between us. No more lies. No manipulations."

"I made this life for us, together," Hannibal whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse. "For a teacup to come together. I will give you anything and everything, Will. To the end of this life." He felt the sudden urge to kiss him then, then and there, worship all of that beauty and cleverness made man. 

But that wasn't what Will needed.

"I stole the password to Alana's email."

"Wha — _what?_ When?"

"One morning." Hannibal shrugged. "As I recall, it was before you told her to learn how to shoot."

Will lifted an eyebrow, tone sardonic. "The one time she listens to me. How rude, Hannibal. _Quite_ rude." The smallest smile passed between them then, deep with amusement.

"Indeed." He held out his hand. "Come?"

The computer was right where he had left it, the orange light steady and reliable.

"If she was to ever suspect a thing, any technology specialist would be unable to tell," he promised Will, sitting him down at the desk. "Unfamiliar log-ins would never lead back to us."

"I'll take your word for it," murmured Will, the cool lights reflecting in his eyes. "Where should I start?"

"Here."

Will was steady and swift as he made his way through his former colleague's emails, his eyes racing back and forth. But the minutes seemed to crawl by, the clock chime rare and unwelcome.

Finally, he paused, settling back into the chair.

"How much of a problem will he be?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, our honeymooning lovebirds are being domestic! 
> 
> But now it's time to get back to our regularly scheduled programming of cannibalism and Murder Husbands. See you all next week 🖤


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handing over her glass, Antony took a loud gulp of his champagne. “Your fathers…” he shook his head. “Wow.”
> 
> Abigail smirked. “Scared of them?”
> 
> “I’m not sure I should have whisked you away,” Antony confessed, as Will and Hannibal — the Stewarts — mingled with the crowd across the room, Hannibal naturally smoothing the way.

She found herself hovering as the starry-eyed silver of the building lifted up ahead, murmurs lingering in the air around them as the soft blue of the dress caressed her body.

It still felt like a dream.

Will paused at her right, but she didn’t need to look to recall the sight of the curly-haired profiler trussed up in his velvet jacket. A look she’d never imagined, even as she stood at the window of that house just months before, waiting for it all to begin.

Somehow, Hannibal had made it all look natural — feel, truly, like they were born to it.

“The opera.” Will’s voice was low as he teased, but Abigail knew Hannibal caught every word beside them.

“The opera,” she agreed, stifling a laugh, cutting through the tension that’d rested on Will’s shoulders these last few days.

On her left, her dad offered her his arm, mindful of the steps that faced them. “After you, Diana.” She caught every lingering look he threw at the man behind her, the fondness in every breath — and the gentleness he gave her freely.

A family, together at last.

* * *

They were being watched.

They’d somehow run into Anthony — _Antony,_ she corrected herself once more — almost immediately, the omnipresent brown scarf traded into for one of jaunty black silk.

Will’s eyes had swept over the soon-to-be graduate student with a frown, but it was Hannibal who tugged him back as he offered out his hand.

And how well they suited each other: the changeling who could see into people’s very souls, and the monster content to play with their food before he decided to pounce.

Handing over her glass, Antony took a loud gulp of his champagne. “Your fathers…” he shook his head. “Wow.”

Abigail smirked. “Scared of them?”

“I’m not sure I should have whisked you away,” Antony confessed, as Will and Hannibal — the Stewarts — mingled with the crowd across the room, Hannibal naturally smoothing the way.

And, yes, her fathers were still watching, but it wasn’t just them.

She rolled her eyes. “Better you than making nice with —” and she caught him then, his eyes cloudy behind the glasses perched neatly on his nose, the middle-aged man whose gaze lingered, standing on the edge of a few university students she recognized. Handsome, if one might think him so.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh. Nasty, horrid brute,” Antony murmured in her ear, turning away from the man as if to hide himself. His brow creased. “He’s a visiting professor. Already made quite a name for himself amongst… well, everyone.”

“Oh?” But Abigail didn’t hide; she didn’t turn away. The man wasn’t what struck her.

No, it was the woman beside him. Gray touched the brown hair gently, the dress a midge too old, too… _worn_. The sweater, out of place, as if thrown on only last minute. As if to hide herself.

“He hasn’t liked me since I made sure Alice got home after one of the museum lectures,” Antony continued, sipping on his champagne. “I hadn’t realized she’d drunk so much, but — well, his young female students seem to end up quite incapacitated when he’s around.”

She could have looked away. It would have been easy.

But her gaze lingered, doe-eyed and open, as she stared straight through him. As she took in his wife, the slight wince still visible at the very corner of her lips; as she saw the young woman frozen next to him, a drink pushed once more toward her.

She looked. She stood.

Motionless.

She tilted her head ever so gently, curiosity's call growing louder in her.

She really hadn't meant to think of it so soon, but — but Will's eyes, when he returned that one day on Hannibal's arm. When something between them seemed to gather together once more. 

Them, together, and her, still dulled in this new world.

“Mr. Dimmond,” came the answer she sought, freezing Antony at her side. “How lovely of you to join us. And, miss…?”

“Ms. Foster.” Antony turned, answering sharply. “Professor Torsney,” he warned her, pushing himself in front.

The professor’s smile never reached his eyes as he tutted.

“Ms. Diana Foster,” Abigal replied to the unspoken question. “I’m looking at applying to the university, and Antony very kindly showed me around.”

“How very generous of him,” Torsney observed. “That reminds me, Mr. Dimmond. I’ll need another week to work on your letter. Research, you understand. A particularly busy time of the year. But the applications don’t close for quite some time, so I’m sure it will be just alright.”

“Of course.” Antony’s back was ramrod straight, and Abigail knew then that Antony knew very well that that letter of recommendation would never, ever, arrive for him.

“But I do so hope you’ll join us, Diana.” His smile was too big, the rot dripping from every word. But his stare was the worst; the stare that lingered on her skin too long, that tore through the elegant sweep of Hannibal’s hand-picked dress. “I’d be happy to offer a personal —"

"Diana." Abigail didn't let herself relax, even as she felt Will's dark presence at her side — even as her dad came to her. “We need to take our seats.”

* * *

"And what are you planning for him?" His voice was light as he offered her his arm.

It wasn't really a question or a statement, just a simple note of curiosity. At least he’d waited until after the performance.

Will glanced at her. She was struck, suddenly, by how at ease he was. Peaceful, in a way he'd never seemed before.

“Will you and Dad still be up if I went out for a drink with Antony and some of the other students?” she asked abruptly.

But it was Hannibal who answered, their coats perched over his arm. “I imagine we’ll still have some business to take care of, yes.” He handed off the two to them, gazing at Abigail all the while. “If that’s what you’d like.”

“Yes,” she nodded, her throat suddenly dry with the memory of that oily voice. “I —” And this was where she faltered, where she’d always hesitated.

“You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. I promised you that we’d take care of everything.” He all but purred as he reached for Will. “Darling?”

A cold hunger swept over Will’s eyes, the calmness turned to surety.

* * *

The footsteps above them paused, turned away — and then returned once more. Waiting.

Will watched Hannibal as he tilted his head up, his body strumming with a restless energy. "She's home." The blood began to dry on his hands, their victim forgotten at the feet as Hannibal took a breath.

It hadn’t taken them long at all; the blabber of the dying fool confessing to all manner of things in that drunken piss. Not that’d it mattered anyways, once he’d laid his hand on their daughter.

“So she is. But she doesn’t want to see you yet,” Will murmured, tracing his lover’s neck with cold lips. “But —” he paused, looking up at the sliver of light through the unclosed door — “I believe she might want to hear.”

“Us,” Hannibal corrected, smiling at him with wide-eyed fondness, pressing his blood-soaked hand into Will’s side.

“Us,” Will agreed fully, twisting over the knife between them.

It was the smile that told him everything he needed to know, the smile that danced across Hannibal's very eyes as he leaned away.

That Hannibal hadn't even attempted to lure Abigail into killing the man wasn't lost on Will. Had never, really, been lost on Will, because he could see so clearly now, could hear the darkness' quiet song sing to him.

Not that it mattered, truly, because Will could see the darkness singing to her; could always see how it had lingered as she weighed it between her hands.

Behind them, a low groan cut through the silence of the basement.

Hannibal claimed one last kiss as he felt Will take the knife from his hand, the coarse stubble of the beard cutting through his cheek. Will only cocked his head in reply, drawing blood from Hannibal's lips as he partook once more.

Once upon a time, he'd thought nothing could compare to that first meal they truly shared together.

That was before he knew Will's rage, Will's desire; saw Will break through the mask he'd painted on in Baltimore.

Will's _enjoyment_.

"Come." Will summoned him without a thought. It was over; that was clear; Will hungered for something else now.

Desire coiled deep within him as Will strode over to the man, babbling as he came to on the wet floor. Will guided him — commanded him — and Hannibal gladly followed, baring the man's body to Will with a sharp and painful jerk.

Will's eyes never left his as the knife came down, cutting clean through the lazy stomach in a fatal, slow blow.

He didn’t even let the scream shatter through the room before he surged forward, taking Hannibal’s lips in a hard kiss once more — and pressing the knife back into Hannibal’s hand.

Hannibal only smiled, considering the pig beneath him. Death was still so slow, and day — and all their growing plans for _him_ — would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write, but I really wanted to bring in Abigail's POV and where she stands with all of the murder-cannibalism-lovey sweethearts going on and her own agency in all of it. I hope you all enjoyed!!!


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